shameless

Whether fortunately or unfortunately, you were the only one who presented as an omega. All your brothers and sisters were Alphas, which means the hammer really came down on you. Your mother made sure you knew how omegas were supposed to behave. Docile, submissive, made to cater to Alphas. It didn’t matter if the world was moving away from these stereotypes. In your household, your father’s word was law, and that meant you had to fall in line.

You cut them off the second you turned eighteen, not that they cared. The last words your mother ever said to you were that no Alpha would put up with your demands, and you would end up alone with no mate, no pups, no family.

Whatever. You don’t need a family. You would be fine on your own.

That was nearly a decade ago. You are a grown woman now, with a stable job, a cozy house, and good friends. Yes, after struggling through college with no one by your side, struggling to unravel how your family’s beliefs had screwed with your head, you even managed to make friends. Your job is a corporate, boring desk job, but the people there are very nice and accommodating. On your first day there, you met Boo Seungkwan, a fellow omega, who welcomed you as one of his own, metaphorically taking you under his wing.

Seungkwan is unlike any omega you have ever met in your life. He is loud, he takes up space, he gets annoyed with his Alpha friends, snaps at them, even calls them names sometimes. It had shocked you when you first saw him interact with Mingyu, who sat one desk over from you. And it shocked you even more when Mingyu never once shut Seungkwan down, instead engaging in petty banter with just as much zeal. You cannot imagine your father or your brothers tolerating Seungkwan’s tone, but Mingyu took it in stride.

They both fascinated you. And you fascinated them.

Seungkwan is a naturally affectionate person. When he tried to hug you for the first time, every hair on your body stood up, every muscle turning rigid with tension. You cannot explain how it felt, like someone was slashing at your inner omega with knives, and unintentionally, you snarled from deep within your subconscious. Seungkwan nearly flew off you, eyes wide, mouth dropped open. He held his hands up to placate you as you tried to regulate your breaths.

He never touched you again.

You can list off in your head the number of times someone has touched you. Your father, never. When you started walking properly as a toddler was the last time it was your mother. You had shaken hands with teachers at graduation, both high school and college. You had accidentally bumped into people on the subway. The doctor touched you when you went in for checkups, and that was hell too, making your heart pound painfully and your skin feel like it was on fire. You don’t know why you’re like that. You just are. Touching hurts. So you avoid it.

Choi Seungcheol knows exactly what it is.

He is interested in you from the second he first sees you walk into the office. You don’t work in the same team. He is in finance, you are in marketing, but he sees you often because you are on good terms with Seungkwan, and Seungkwan is friends with literally everyone. He likes watching you. You are quiet, calm but witty. You can keep up with someone as hyperactive as Seungkwan quite easily, and you like ribbing on Mingyu sometimes too, who you also seem to be close with. Seungcheol wonders if there is something going on there, but then he sees Seungkwan hug you, your visceral reaction to it, and it all clicks into place.

You’re a touch starved omega.

He has seen it once before when he was a teenager. It isn’t common, and often only happens with severe neglect. It makes no sense to him. You’re so beautiful, and the handful of times Seungcheol has been in the same vicinity as you, he has caught a whiff of your scent. Sweet like honey and flower petals. He cannot imagine that another Alpha has never been interested in you, or tried to court you. His heart aches at the thought of you being so alone for so long, and the Alpha in him wants to comfort you.

But he has to take this slow.

It is a random Thursday evening when Choi Seungcheol approaches you for the first time. You are standing outside the office building, fiddling with your phone, when a very distinctly alpha smell hits your nose. You turn your head to see him there, a mere few feet from you. He offers you a tiny smile.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” You recognise him. “Seungcheol?”

“That’s me.”

You’ve seen him around the office. You’re not sure what department, but he’s in the break room sometimes when you and Seungkwan are in there. His presence isn’t loud or overwhelming like alphas often are, but there’s a very distinct, confident air about him. He carries himself with the self assured stance of a man who is comfortable in his skin. You like people who know what they want out of life, like Seungkwan, like Seungcheol. But you never had any reason to speak to him before.

“Are you waiting for someone?” He asks.

You shake your head, holding up your phone. “Just looking for a cab. My car’s in the shop, so I’ve been commuting like this.”

He nods. “I can give you a ride home, if that’s okay?”

You hesitate a bit. You don’t want to impose on him, even though he is the one who offered. But you look down at the app again, at how you’ve been looking for something not crazy expensive for the last ten minutes. You weigh your options as he waits patiently for your answer, before reluctantly nodding yes.

Seungcheol’s car smells like him, and it’s the first time his scent hits your nose strongly enough for you to decipher the notes. Cedarwood and leather. It’s heavy, but not potent, grounded in earthly tones. Involuntarily, you feel yourself relax. That doesn’t happen often when you’re among alphas. The only other one you feel remotely okay with is Mingyu.

Seungcheol makes small talk with you as he drives. None of the questions are too invasive; why your car is in the shop, how your current project is going, what are your usual plans for after work. You talk about Seungkwan, the common link between you two, and Seungcheol praises Seungkwan’s people skills, his ability to hold attention during work meetings. You conclude that you like listening to him speak. His voice is deep, kind of brassy without being grating to the ear. It’s soft too, despite being so manly, and you wonder again how an alpha can have such a strong presence while simultaneously being so accommodating.

“Thank you.” You smile at him genuinely, when he stops before your apartment complex. He nods and smiles back, and your breath catches at the little dimple that dents his cheek. Every little thing adds to his allure. You can feel the omega in you stir, and you leave the car before you can dwell on what that means.

You haven’t had much luck with romance in the past. You presented later than most people your age, and by the time you came to terms with your upbringing, trying to break away from it, you were well into college. You know alphas looked at you, of course. They were alphas. Their biology meant that they would sniff out an omega. But it was never about you, specifically. Your aversion to touch worries you sometimes when it comes to finding a mate, but you are also averse to the very idea of a mate, especially after what your mother had always said. You have grown resentful of the idea that an alpha could be anything like the ones you grew up with. So you banish any thought of that from your mind.

Seungcheol starts showing up more and more in your life after that.

When he greets you in the break room and Seungkwan realizes you know each other, he insists that you all sit together, and that’s how you end up having lunch with him every day. He always offers a taste of his food, which you politely decline, insisting he should eat. A few days of this and he starts bringing a smaller box with him, saying you can eat from it without worrying about his portions. It catches you off guard, that he sets food aside for you, but something inside you preens at the thought, and your heart beats faster when you accept the food.

Seungcheol drives you home a few more times as well, saying he lives in the same direction anyway, and you can ride with him until your car is back from being fixed. You wrack your brain on how to repay all his kindness, and you are so caught up in it that Seungkwan has to sit you down and spell it out for you.

“He’s courting you, dumbass.” His eyes bore into you, and you blink hard a few times, trying to process his words.

“No he’s not.” You scowl. “He’s just being kind.”

“He’s cooking extra food and packing it every day for an unmated omega. He is offering to drive home an unmated omega every day.” Seungkwan rolls his eyes.

You bite your lip anxiously, because putting it like that makes it so much more obvious. Is Seungcheol courting you? You have never been courted before. No wonder you didn’t notice.

You fret over it for a few days. And it is on one of your rides home with him that Seungcheol finally speaks up.

“It might not be my place to say, but you seem a little worried.” His voice is low, cautious. “Is something bothering you?”

You have been looking for an opening to bring it up with him anyway, so you try not to think about how Seungcheol guessed that you’re worried and instead ask him what’s been on your mind.

“Seungkwan seems to believe that you are…. courting me.” You try to keep your voice level as you say it, fidgeting on your seat. When he doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, you feel your face burn hot.

“I’m sorry, I’m being ridiculous.” You shake your head, trying to wave off the annoyance that you now feel at your omega friend. Curse him and his crazy, outlandish suggestions.

“Why would it be ridiculous?” He says finally, eyes still on the road.

“What?”

“The thought of someone courting you shouldn’t be ridiculous.”

Your face is still burning hot. You don’t know what to say to him, how to even begin unraveling why you think this way. Even Seungkwan hasn’t had your trauma dumped on him yet.

Seungcheol’s car slows down in front of your building. He puts it into park and reaches the backseat for his satchel. From it, he removes a black, velvet box. He pulls it open, and you have to strangle a gasp in your mouth as you eye the glittering silver chain of the bracelet. It has a single charm on it, cherries, also silver and gleaming in the light.

“I wanted to gift this to you from the start.” He confesses. “But I figured it would be better to start smaller. Like with food.”

Your heart is beating fast, your eyes trained on the bracelet as he removes it from the box. You don’t dare look up at him. You’re scared. He doesn’t push for you to speak. Silence fills the small space between you two.

“Seungcheol, I-” You hesitate. “I have issues.”

He chuckles a bit, but not unkindly. “We will take this as slow as you want. You call the shots. I’m just asking for a chance to be the one to love you the way I think you deserve.”

You call the shots.

You look at him then, to find that his eyes are already on you. Dark and warm like the earth. It grounds you, and you can feel your shoulders loosen just a bit.

His fingers brush your skin just slightly as he clasps the bracelet on your wrist. Your omega stirs, restless, on guard. You don’t get a wink of sleep that night.

……………………….

Seungkwan is fawning all over your courting gift the next day, nearly beside himself. He’s flushed so red you are afraid he will explode. Mingyu is grinning ear to ear too, swaying in his chair.

“Couldn’t have been anyone better.” He claims. “Seungcheol’s alpha game is on a whole other level. If anyone can wow you, it’s him.”

You don’t have time to question his words, because Seungkwan starts shedding actual tears, and you have to try and console him without any physical contact. That doesn’t work, of course, so Mingyu steps in. It becomes a whole thing, and before you know it, the words slip from your mind.

Seungcheol comes to your desk and asks you to have lunch with him from then onwards. Every day, you sit with him, without Seungkwan now, and he plops a warm, packed lunch in front of you. When you try to protest, he waves it away in dismissal. The omega in you loves it, you realise, being fed like this. You’re sure there’s something deep rooted in your primal nature that approves of being brought food, especially by an alpha that has made it clear he is interested in you.

You are curious about Seungcheol, and he indulges you in every conversation. You learn that he is the youngest of many brothers, all alphas. He’s an athletic guy. He likes to play sports and travel. He has a small, but very loyal circle of friends. You also learn that he has liked you for a long time. It flatters you, even if you find that thought a bit unbelievable. Seungcheol asks that you tell him about yourself as well, your hobbies, your interests, and what you want for your future. He is an attentive listener, and he often lets you drone on and on without feeling any need to edit you. Your heart flutters at how his eyes soften when he looks at you. How he always maintains a distance. He never touches you, not even once. Every word of his feels like balm on your skin.

He asks you on your first date after courting you for a good two months. And he pulls out all the stops for it. It’s romantic, but not overly so that it would freak you out. You both talk yourselves hoarse about any and every topic under the sun, and by the time he walks you to your door, your entire body is buzzing with a warm, comfortable energy.

“You’re so different, Seungcheol.” You mumble as you lean against the doorframe. He hums inquisitively as he watches you.

“How so?”

“You never ask anything of me.” You watch him. “I don’t understand it.”

Seungcheol sighs, staring off into space for a brief moment.

“I think people get it so wrong.” His voice is so quiet that you almost have to strain to catch it. “Alphas are supposed to be this domineering, uncontrollable, all powerful authority. But that’s just not true. It’s the omegas who are the heart of it. Omegas who hold everything up. An alpha is just…. there to love and protect.”

He stares at his feet then, kicking them slightly.

“I know you struggle with…. touch.” He continues. “I also know that’s not your fault. You’ve been let down so many times that your omega just can’t trust again. I get it.”

When he looks up, his smile is soft, whimsical almost. The dim light of the lobby frames him, makes his brown hair look lighter. “I hope that you can trust me. Not immediately. Not with all of you. But maybe just a little bit.”

When your vision gets misty, you try to blink away the tears, but that only makes them fall past your eyeline. Seungcheol reaches up, ever so slowly, to brush one away with the pad of his thumb. When his skin meets yours, it tingles. Your fingers tremble. You try not to shudder. You close your eyes, and you let his barely there touch linger. He doesn’t pull away. Neither do you.

He holds your hand when he drives.

It starts with just linking his pinky with yours. But you try to take the brave step of allowing more, until your fingers are intertwining with his large, warm ones. His hand in yours feels like an anchor preventing you from floating away. Your omega preens, licks over old wounds, and you try not to think about how good the simple act of holding hands feels. You feel like a teenager, feeling so giddy over just holding hands, but when you see Seungcheol try to tamp down a smile, you let yourself feel this happiness.

He likes placing his hand on your lower back when you walk with him, a silent sign of him being there, someone you can rely on. The first time he scents you, it’s a very cautious brush of his wrist against yours. It makes something uncomfortable zip through your skin, and he doesn’t try it again. But then you miss it, the feeling of him making you just a little bit his, and you shyly brush your wrist over his by yourself during one movie night. He lets you, doesn’t rush, doesn’t stop you. He lets you run your wrist over his until you are satisfied that a part of you smells like him and a part of him smells like you.

Your heat hits the week after that.

It’s more painful this time, since your omega recognizes a specific alpha, knows that there is a potential partner out there who can give you a knot. You cry through it for one night and one day, but then you break, your mind muddled, and you call Seungcheol between broken sobs. His voice only makes you cry more as he tries to placate you over the phone. He knows your omega is being unreasonable. There’s a good chance that you won’t be able to handle it anyway. When he hangs up, you almost fall apart.

You hear knocking on your door an hour later, and your heat-addled brain is convinced that it’s Seungcheol. When you see a random stranger there, an omega at that, your face crumples.

“I come bearing gifts.” The man says with a grin, holding up a large canvas bag. Its familiar scent hits you hard, cedarwood and leather, and you snatch the bag from him. When you open it, you find heaps and heaps of Seungcheol’s clothing. Shirts, sweaters, flannels, and by the smell of them, it is anything he has worn in the last few days. You preen at the scent, shoving your nose into the cloth. It calms you down, you can feel your cramps give way for the first time in hours, and you look up gratefully at the stranger who saved you at a time like this.

His name is Jeonghan, and you remember him from Seungcheol’s stories. You recognise him too, from pictures you’ve seen, now that you aren’t delirious with pain. Jeonghan helps you get back in bed and helps arrange all of Seungcheol’s clothes in your nest. He cooks while you rest, making a good few portions of nutritious, easily heated up stew that will last you for the rest of your heat. He tells you how worried Seungcheol is, how badly he wishes he could be there, and that he hopes his scent can hold you over enough to get you through this. He ends up being right, because after three more slightly less painful nights, your heat finally breaks.

You’re embarrassed when you see Seungcheol next, but he doesn’t seem to mind at all. He assures you that it’s perfectly normal, and he is even flattered that your omega trusts him enough to want his help during your heat. He asks if the clothes helped, and you thank him for them.

“‘M not giving them back though.” You pout. He only laughs heartily.

“I will give you all of them, sweetheart. Just ask.”

Your heart flutters. Your omega purrs, satisfied.

You go over the events of the heat in the following days once it’s over, how badly you wanted him there, how difficult it was to live off his scent alone, especially as it kept fading from his clothes day after day. When he is sprawled on your couch the next Saturday, you finally ask him to scent you.

His eyes go wide, flitting between yours, as if trying to decipher your state of mind.

“Are you sure?” He sits up, forgetting the TV completely. “You have to think about it. Scenting is….. very intimate.”

You nod. “I have thought about it, Cheol. If I didn’t want it, I wouldn’t ask.”

He only hesitates for a moment longer, nodding. “Okay.”

You don’t know what to do with yourself as he turns to face you properly. Your heart is beating fast already, and you play with your fingers, trying to calm down. He must notice, because he reaches for your hands, gently holding them between his own.

“Deep breaths.” He instructs you. “Everything is okay.”

His voice has a deep, calming timbre to it, and you feel yourself soften slightly at his words. This is happening. You are trusting an alpha to invade your most sensitive sense. Despite how nervous you are, you think of the comfort it will bring.

“Can we do it in my nest?”

That catches him by surprise too. That’s two in one day, and if you weren’t so anxious, you would find it a bit comical. But he nods, and you notice how eager it is. Your heart squeezes a bit, and you realise that Seungcheol really has gone so long without acting on his very base instincts of touching and scenting you. His alpha must be restless beyond belief at this point.

Five minutes later, you’re lying on your bed, surrounded by a carefully organized mess of clothes that you’ve built into the perfect nest. You have lots of pieces of clothing in there, and you can see Seungcheol’s nose twitch a bit in annoyance when he catches the scent of another alpha, zeroing in on the wool scarf that once belonged to Mingyu. It’s common knowledge that an omega will create nests from the clothes of any person they find comfort in. You have things from Seungkwan in there too, but they are nothing compared to the huge piles of clothes that belong to Seungcheol, and that placates him a little. He knows that if and when he mates you, he is going to shred Mingyu’s scarf into a million pieces. Until then, you can have it.

He hovers over you, making sure he isn’t crowding you too much. You look more at home here, more at ease, and he wants to think it’s because you are surrounded by his scent. The alpha in his growls deep, satisfied, seeing who he already deems as his omega lying like this between clothes that belong to and smell like him. Your chest rises in a deep inhale before the air leaves you in a long whoosh.

He starts with leaning down to nuzzle against your cheek. You close your eyes, tilting your head to the side and up. You can practically feel how shaky his breath is as you present yourself to him like this, and you marvel at his restraint once again. Your hands clench into fists, and you feel a surge of need in you again.

“Cheolie.” You rasp.

“I’m here.” His breath hits your neck and you shiver at the feeling. Then he leans down to the junction between your neck and shoulder, just over your scent gland. He exhales on it carefully, and it’s warm against your skin. You bite your lower lip hard.

His tongue is tentative as it licks over the now swollen, needy gland. He keeps doing that for a couple of minutes, little kitten licks that relax your limbs the more he swipes over the area. He breathes out again, his breath mixing with the pheromones now coming off you in waves. He leans lower, closer to you, his elbows on either side of your head, before finally latching his lips over your skin to give in a soft suck.

Your back arches involuntarily, pleasure zipping through you. You know your scent is thickening with your arousal, and so is Seungcheol’s. The heady mix of both of them is making your head spin a bit. Seungcheol alternates between licks and sucks, making sure to cover the skin around your glands with his spit too. It feels deliciously territorial, a side of him you have experienced only fleetingly when he places a hand firmly on your waist, or when an alpha gets a bit too close and he stares them down. You wonder about it, about how badly he is holding himself back from pummeling another alpha into the ground when he gets too close. Mingyu has mentioned it a few times, that Seungcheol’s scent sours when he feels jealous. You want to see more of it. You want him to claim you as his.

It’s the first time you feel the need to be claimed, and it makes you whimper. Seungcheol hums into your neck.

“Feel good?” His voice has dropped a few octaves, and the low grunt makes something zip down your core. You barely managed a jerky nod.

“Yes, Alpha.”

The title makes him bristle pleasantly, and he doubles his efforts at making sure your scent glands are bathed in him. He keeps going for what feels like hours. When you walk into the office the next day, Seungkwan’s nose scrunches up, claiming he would confuse you with a mated omega if you reeked even a little bit more.

You get addicted to the feeling of Seungcheol scenting you. And he is more than happy to provide. Every morning, he grips your waist tight, lapping over your neck before you walk into work, making sure everyone in the building knows that you have an alpha you can call your own. He whispers to you how delicious you smell when your scent is mixed with his, how good it makes his alpha feel. You are shy about it still, but he loves it when you carefully and hesitantly kiss over his own scent glands. You don’t know why he would want your scent, but he claims he wants it just as bad, says he is as much yours as you are his.

By the time your next heat rolls around, you are sure you want Seungcheol to spend it with you.

He’s hesitant, naturally. You two have come a long way, but helping you in heat is basically the final step. The end of the line. There’s no coming back from something as intimate as that, and he worries. You know he is only looking out for you, but you also know yourself. There’s no way you can make it through this heat without him now. He could drench his clothes in buckets of his sweat and it still wouldn’t replace the feeling of his lips suckling on your glands, his hands running slowly over your waist. You need him there, and you tell him as much.

Seungcheol takes the preparation during your pre-heat very seriously. He asks for time off for both of you, essentially solidifying in the office what is going to happen. Seungkwan is shameless about it as he teases you, but you whack him upside the head with a thick folder and that shuts him up. Seungcheol shows up at your place with a large bag of his essentials. Anything he will need, some groceries he picked up along the way, and more of his clothes. At this point, you wonder if he has anything left in his closet at all.

He cooks and portions meals for you. He stashes protein bars, electrolyte packets, and a case of water bottles in your room. He doesn’t let you move, telling you to rest as much as you can because you’ll be needing your strength when the heat hits. His implication makes you flush, and you wonder how it will feel. You watch him putter around your room from where you lay in your nest, making sure everything is accessible to him. You’ve never taken a knot before. If you think back to before you met Seungcheol, the very thought of one would repulse you. But as you ponder about it now, him naked over you, skin to skin, shoving the swollen base of his cock inside you, you can’t help but think of how good it will feel.

Seungcheol, as in tune with you as he is, can smell the shift in your scent. He gives you a tiny smile, heavy with understanding.

“Are you still with me, omega?” He asks, leaning over to run a cool hand over the heated skin of your forehead. You hum. Your eyelids feel heavy, and it takes a lot of strength to keep them open. Seungcheol places his hand over your eyes to keep them closed.

“Try and sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

You listen to his words without a second thought. It seems your brain is already shutting down, depending on him to tell you what to do. Your nap is short lived and fitful, and when you wake up again, you are breathing heavily. Your shirt is already sticking to your back. Eyes only half open, vision unfocused, you paw at the shirt, trying to lift your heavy arms so you can pull it off.

“Here. Let me.” His voice cuts through the haze. You can feel his hands, still cooler than your body temperature, grip your shirt so he can tug it off you. Cool air hits you, and you wonder if he has turned the thermostat down to better cater to your needs.

“Better?”

You hum, turning towards the sound. You blink furiously until your vision is clear enough to see his head of thick brown hair to your right. You reach for him.

“Alpha.” Your voice trembles, and a painful cramp shoots through your lower stomach. You wince. Seungcheol is on top of you immediately, leaning down to bite gently on your scent gland, as if coaxing your omega to calm down. It listens, settling a bit.

“I’m here.” His weight on you feels heavenly. You can feel your muscles relax. But the cramp persists. “Tell me what you need.”

“I don’t-” You almost cry out as you feel the cramp sharpen. “I don’t know. Alpha, please-”

He shushes you, hands dipping into the waistband of your shorts until he is tugging them off. They stick to your crotch like skin, leaving wet strings as they part from you. Your inner thighs are already drenched. Seungcheol had noticed as you slept, but he didn’t want to wake you. The more you are turned on, the easier it will be to make you cum multiple times, and the quicker your heat will break in the long run.

He doesn’t wait before he reaches down, carefully rubbing the pads of his fingers over your swollen clit. You gasp and jerk at the feeling, and Seungcheol uses that moment to dip two fingers inside your desperately clenched opening. Your eyes nearly roll up at the feeling, and you don’t hold back your satisfied sigh. It encourages him to sink in to the last knuckle, feeling almost no resistance as your body stretches to accommodate him. All that courting, that dating, that scenting, it may have been slow as hell, near torture for him, but it seems that by now, every cell in your body is moulded to recognise him. He watches you arch into him, your legs spreading more, your pussy greedily sucking his fingers in, and he marvels at how pliant you are under him. You have truly given all of yourself to him, and he takes that as a great responsibility. You’re his omega, bite or not, and he will make sure you are heavy with his pups by the time you leave this nest.

Fuck. Maybe your heat is making him delirious too. His alpha is rearing to knot you. But he needs to prep you first.

You cum on his fingers twice before he even thinks about putting his cock in you. He coaxes each orgasm out of you with the expert curl of his fingers, his lips at your ear, whispering praises that seem to reverberate in your skull about how good you are, the perfect little omega for him, how much he loves your tiny little pussy, how much he loves taking care of you like this, how badly he wants to give you his knot. You’re sobbing by the time he is lining his tip against your entrance, cheeks drenched in heavy tears, still so turned on despite already cumming twice, and when he penetrates you, sinks into you in one fell swoop, you lock around him and cum hard for the third time. He groans, long and low, struggling against the feeling of your walls fluttering around him, watching you writhe under him.

“Good girl.” He coos, voice so gravelly and deep that you could cum again just hearing him talk. “So good for me. So perfect.”

You’re lightheaded, the air feels like cotton pressing into your skin. Your limbs have no power, and you are surprised you can even spread your legs for Seungcheol. Just his massive cock sinking into you is enough to drive you up the wall, and when he finally starts moving, you wail.

Seungcheol encourages you every step of the way. He coaxes you to talk through the rough pounding, even if your words are incoherent and choppy. You babble on about how good his cock feels, how badly you want his knot and his cum. Every sound from you seems to rile him up even more. When you keen, your omega whining long and high pitched in the depths of your chest, it only spurs him on. He fucks you through another orgasm before the base of his cock finally starts to swell, and at the promise of a knot, you writhe desperately.

He shoves himself inside you, knot swelling and locking inside your weeping pussy as he groans and finally cums, flooding your insides with his seed. Tingles run over your skin, through your very bones, as the desperate, primal creature inside you settles, finally sedated, finally happy. Seungcheol’s torso undulates over you, bare skin to bare skin, prolonging his own high so he can dump more of his load inside you. He is shiny with sweat and exertion, and you admire him as the fog in your head lifts. His hair falls over his eyes, and his lips are pretty pink from being bitten raw. You pull him down by his broad shoulders, nuzzling into his neck, nibbling on the skin. He hums and lets you stake your claim on him.

“Better?”

You nod, allowing him to pull you both so you are lying on your sides, waiting for the knot to go down. Your muscles feel muted, like someone flipped a switch inside you. By the time Seungcheol’s knot goes down, you are almost half asleep. He tries his best to make you stay awake long enough to down a bottle of water and a protein bar, promising you food when you wake up next, tucking you carefully into your nest.

The next few days are bliss.

You never associated heats with anything good before. They were always painful experiences, a flurry of cramps and dizziness, like a trial you had to get through. But Seungcheol flips the script around. He pumps you full whenever you ask for it, knot after knot, until you are so satisfied that you can’t think straight, can’t even speak right. You are covered, inside and out, with him. He litters your body with his marks, tongue and teeth working overtime to make sure that no part of you is unblemished. He feeds you during your lucid intervals, bathes you when he can, then fucks another knot into you until you are tuckered out again. When day four hits, your heat finally breaks, and you are more grateful for him than you are for yourself. You can’t imagine it’s easy to keep up with you.

“Are you kidding?” He grins, stretching out beside you in your nest. “You’re a dream. I couldn’t have asked for a better omega. You were so perfect for me, every single day of your heat.”

You flush at the praise. It somehow hits even harder than the words he whispered while driving his cock into you in the throes of heat. He nuzzles your neck, sighing and relaxing beside you, licking over your scent gland. There’s no need for that. You reek of him anyway. But you let him do it, dreaming of the day his teeth break the barrier of your skin there, making you his permanently.

You hope that day comes quicker.

Mina rounds the wall then, entering your space and leaning against the table. You turn your stare back to the screen, feeling irrational anger as you eye the spreadsheet open in front of you, looking way more complicated than it needs to be. You find yourself glaring at it.

“Any plans for the weekend?” Mina makes small talk. You decide that you would rather engage with her than do even a morsel of more work. You swivel in your chair to face her.

“Not really. This week has been so exhausting I think I will just stay in.” You wondered if Seungcheol would be up for a disgustingly long movie marathon. Maybe not. He can’t sit still for too long.

“I should start packing up.” You announce, pulling your bag out from under your desk so you can shovel your belongings into it. Mina eyes you as you move.

“Is your roommate coming to pick you up?” She gestures to the picture you had taped to your wall, Seungcheol with his arms wrapped around your shoulders from behind and cheek resting on the top of your head. It was graduation. He had dyed his hair blond for the occasion. You had called him ridiculous. You had also secretly thought he looked amazing with blond hair, and your heart had raced when you saw the color on him for the first time, nearly as pale as his skin, and had cursed the gods for creating someone who could look good in literally anything.

It was your favourite picture of the two of you.

You nod at Mina’s question. Seungcheol’s car is in the shop, and since his workplace is way farther than yours, you lent him your car for the week, provided he drops you off and picks you up from work. It was a good arrangement, and you contemplate continuing it even after his car is fixed. It would save a ton on gas money.

Mina hums, looking a bit giddy. “He’s quite the eye candy, isn’t he?”

You purse your lips, trying not to give anything away. Of course Seungcheol is eye candy. He’s the most handsome guy you know. But funnily enough, you like him best when he just rolls out of bed, hair all over the place, eyes swollen from sleep and mouth twisted into a pout. He’s endearing, and he is smart, and he is understanding to a fault.

You’re in love with him. She doesn’t have to know that.

When the clock strikes 5, you and Mina are the first ones out of the door. She tells you about her weekend plans as you descend the stairs, foregoing the elevator, something about karaoke with old college buddies and drinks at a local bar. You hum along, spotting the silver of your car and sharply turning its way. Seungcheol is waiting outside the car for some reason, despite how cold it is, biting his lip as he stares at something on his phone. The sound of footsteps makes him look up and he smiles, eyes flitting to Mina.

“Hi.” She waves at him despite the close proximity. He waves back and echoes the greeting.

“Hello to me too, I guess.” Your words are dry, and Seungcheol sticks his tongue out childishly. Mina giggles, and his attention is caught on her again. Something in your chest sinks a bit.

You don’t listen to them exchanging pleasantries. You are tired, exhausted in fact, and you don’t have it in you to watch Seungcheol flirt with your coworker. He’s a naturally friendly guy, and anyone with eyes can see how attractive Mina is, so you can’t really fault him for that. It’s only when you hear his question that your mind snaps back to the present.

“….. maybe I can take you out sometime?”

You stare at the side of his face. Then at Mina’s. Neither of them looks back, and you realise acutely that you have no place in this conversation. Before you can think about it, your mind is already responding.

“I’ll be in the car.” You mumble, walking past them and pulling open the passenger side door. You settle in and pointedly avoid looking at both of them from the window, pulling your phone out to give the illusion of being busy. Instead, your head is spinning.

This shouldn’t bother you. It shouldn’t. You have known Seungcheol since the first year of college. He has been on countless dates, with people who you know and people who are complete strangers. You may be hung up on him, but he isn’t yours. He can date who he wants.

But something about it being Mina.

You have known Mina since the first day you started at this company. She was still fairly new when you arrived, so you two had bonded over not knowing anyone else. Mina was bubbly, impossibly friendly, and you two had formed an alliance of sorts at work. But it was still strictly confined to work. You two had no overlapping interests, so the friendship never progressed. Both of you seemed fine with that. You were work-friends.

Somehow, this felt like a violation. Like she was encroaching in a part of your life she shouldn’t be involved in. With someone who you were deeply possessive of despite having no claim on him.

You scowl at your phone screen. Way to make it about yourself.

The car door opens and Seungcheol falls heavily into the driver seat, bringing with him the chill of the winter air. He tugs the door closed and rushes to turn on the car, adjusting the heating.

“Ah, I’m excited.” He grins over at you. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a hot coworker our age?”

You roll your eyes at his words. “For this very reason.”

He pouts as he turns the car into the road, focusing straight ahead, but you still feel his indignation.

“Come on! I don’t date everyone you know.”

“Right. You just sleep with them.”

He reaches towards you and grips your cheeks hard, pinching until you squeal and tear his hand away, glaring at him.

“She seems very nice.” He is referring to Mina.

You sigh. “She is. So stay away from her.”

He really isn’t some kind of heartless player, you both know this. So he doesn’t really react with offense to your words. Instead, he ploughs forward.

“Tell me about her. We have a date tomorrow.”

You stare blearily at the road. Are you really going to be Mina’s hype woman? In front of the man you love? Is the universe laughing at you?

“She likes cute things. She’s kind of a romantic. Go classic. Flowers, dinner, a nice walk.”

He nods as if taking mental notes. “Okay, good.”

You feel the sudden, desperate urge to start bawling. You tamp down on it. Seungcheol changes the subject, thankfully, and you try not to think about tomorrow.

When you get home, you pour over the contents of the refrigerator and wonder what you can make for dinner from the bits and scraps you can find. You make a mental note to get groceries, and Seungcheol starts cutting and prepping some vegetables while you look at the meat options.

Dinner is a casual affair. He regales you with stories of his day. His company is going through a bit of a rough patch in terms of profits, so there’s always drama to report. You move around each other seamlessly. The aroma from the food slowly starts filling the kitchen as you cook, and you laugh particularly hard at one of his jokes. He grips your waist to keep you from falling, and squeezes the tiniest bit before letting go. You smooth the hair out of his eyes. This is a normal Friday night.

Seungcheol’s side presses into yours as you eat despite the ample space on the couch. He has always been affectionate with you. It had started as a thing of comfort during stressful college times and had eventually just before the norm for you both. Some sitcom is playing, neither of you care for it, as he wonders if he should get a haircut. You wholeheartedly oppose it. He fishes for compliments, and you gladly give them to him. He laughs when you compare him to his dog back at his parent’s house.

Mina is the last thing on your mind.

……………………………

“You could’ve just said no.” Soonyoung’s mouth is full of popcorn so his words are muffled, though you hear him clearly. He doesn’t wait to finish them, adding another handful in. You don’t even flinch. You are pretty used to his eating habits at this point.

“It’s not my place to.” You retort, looking at the screen but not really watching. You reach into the bowl on his lap, surprised by how empty it already is.

“We’re ten minutes into the movie!” You glare at him. “You’ve nearly finished the bowl. Can you slow down?”

“You’re right, but you still could’ve said no.” From your other side, Jihoon chimes in. He’s scrolling on his phone instead of looking at the TV. Neither you nor Soonyoung minds. He usually shows up to movie nights because he wants to hang out. He couldn’t give a rat’s ass about whatever you two choose to play. It usually ends up devolving into conversation anyway, mostly your woes about Seungcheol.

“He cares about you too much.” Jihoon continues. “If you seriously didn’t want him to date someone you know, he wouldn’t hesitate in dropping them.”

You sigh, rubbing your eyes tiredly. “I know that. I know. But I really don’t think I can do that. It’s not fair to him.”

Jihoon hums, eyeing you from the corner of his eye. “None of this is fair to either of you, but you don’t listen to me anyway, so what’s the point?”

You pointedly ignore his jab. Jihoon is very much in favor of you telling Seungcheol how you feel. He has been advocating for it for years. Now, after so long trying to convince you, he has pretty much given up, sticking to little digs here and there. You’re too stubborn to listen.

“I think this is good.” Soonyoung chimes in, and you turn your head to look at him incredulously. He nods, as if affirming himself, before continuing.

“Mina is different for you. She’s not some casual acquaintance. Seungcheol dating her should light a fire under your ass to move on. Look, it’s been years. If it hasn’t happened yet, what makes you think it will happen now?”

“It won’t.” You respond, though you feel irritated. “I know it won’t happen.”

“So, what are you doing?” Soonyoung’s tone has softened, even if his words are harsh. “What’s the point of staying hung up on him?”

You know he is right. You know it. But as you contemplate his words, Seungcheol emerges from his room, and your eyes find him. He looks good, white button up shirt, dark brown slacks, and he is smoothing something into his thick head of brown hair, pushing it off his forehead.

“I think I should just go for roses, if we are going to keep it classic.” He sounds urgent, and your eyes remain trained on him as he fastens his watch and smooths a hand down the shirt to straighten it.

“You look great.” You manage to throw out, and he gives you a smile that has your eyes melting in their sockets. He reaches a hand out to ruffle through your hair affectionately, and Soonyoung’s words fly out the window like he never said them in the first place.

“Don’t wait up!” He teases, and you roll your eyes. He says goodbye to Jihoon and Soonyoung, flying out of the door as quickly as he came in. Soonyoung sighs.

“You’re screwed.”

………………………………….

You don’t remember when exactly your friends end up leaving. Predictably, the night had progressed to all of you just talking, the next movie playing automatically when no one paid attention to it. Before you know it, your eyelids are getting heavy and both of them are wrapping it up, ready to head home. You wave them goodbye and fill a glass of water for yourself, carrying it to your bedside table and flopping down on your bed. You fall asleep before you can even think about doomscrolling on your phone.

You don’t wake up until almost 10 the next day, grateful for the lack of annoying alarm. You stare at the light filtering through your curtains, willing yourself to get up. The apartment is quiet. You wonder when Seungcheol got home last night. You wonder how his date with Mina went.

You walk past his closed door, then the bathroom where the shower is running. It seems he woke up just now too. You put on a pot for coffee, enough for two cups, before opening the refrigerator door and contemplating if you want breakfast or if you can wait and just pick something up for lunch later. You hear bare feet padding into the kitchen, and turn around to give Seungcheol your suggestion. When you take in the sight in front of you, the words die in your throat.

Mina waves at you awkwardly, her hair still wet and flowing over the towel draped around her shoulders. She is wearing a very fancy purple dress, and you realise it’s probably what she wore to the date last night. Despite her bare face and your frantically beating heart, you can’t help but think of how beautiful she looks.

“Sorry.” She has the decency to look embarrassed. “Seungcheol said you don’t usually wake up before noon on the weekends.”

You jerk out of your shock, letting out a laugh you hope doesn’t sound too strained. There’s more sounds of doors opening and closing, and then Seungcheol is stepping into the kitchen, shirtless and clearly just woken up. He smiles at Mina in a way so sickly sweet that you have to physically turn away, staring at the refrigerator again. Bile rises up into your throat. You wonder where your running shoes are. In the foyer or your room? You couldn’t bear to walk past the kitchen again on your way out. The refrigerator door shuts a bit too forcefully than you intended.

“Oh, we don’t have enough coffee.” You hear Seungcheol say.

“Sorry.” You choke out, not knowing who to look at. The air in the kitchen is painfully awkward, or maybe it’s just you, and you put your mug on the counter. “I just poured it. I didn’t drink it yet. You can have it.”

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow. “What about you?”

“I was just heading out.” You lie. It’s so obvious nobody believes you that Mina just ends up looking at her feet. “Jihoon just texted. I’m gonna head over to his.”

Seungcheol doesn’t comment on the fact that your phone is nowhere in sight. You leave the kitchen quickly, heading to the foyer. You are relieved to spot your shoes, shoving them on and realising your hands are shaking, before you slip out of the house.

……………………………………….

“What the hell?”

Soonyoung tugs at your arm until you stumble into the apartment, shutting the door quickly behind you to keep the chill out. His hand is warm on your bare arm, and you realise only then that you had been running on the streets in nothing more than a T-shirt and sweatpants. No wonder the old lady down the road looked at you weirdly. It is nearly December.

Soonyoung doesn’t speak as he leads you inside, rushing to grab the blanket draped over the couch and wrapping you in it. It’s warm, and one look at the plate on the coffee table tells you that he had just vacated the couch in the middle of breakfast to answer the door.

“Sorry.” You manage to throw out, though you don’t feel it. You don’t feel much of anything. You can’t get Seungcheol’s face out of your head, how he melted when he saw Mina. She had spent the night. After the first date. Seungcheol doesn’t do that. That’s not like him at all.

“You want pancakes? There’s batter left over.” Soonyoung doesn’t wait for an answer, trudging to the kitchen to begin working on them. Now that he has mentioned it, the house does smell like vanilla. You sit on the stool at the kitchen island, still swimming in the blanket, taking comfort in the soft fleece. Jihoon starts when he walks into the kitchen, clearly not expecting to see you. You feel a wave of remorse for crashing into what was likely a peaceful Sunday morning. It doesn’t last long. You sink back into the hollow feeling in your chest.

“He brought her home.” You supply without prompting. “She- they were in the kitchen. And he was looking at her. And I couldn’t stay there.”

You don’t know if you make sense, but by the way Jihoon’s eyes soften, you know you don’t have to.

They sit with you as you eat. Your motions are almost mechanical. Someone’s phone vibrates. Soonyoung stares down at it.

“He’s asking if you’re with us.” He comments, glancing at you. “No wonder he’s worried. You walked out into the street wearing a shirt.”

“He doesn’t get to be worried.” Your voice wavers. Incredibly, you feel anger surge up inside you. Unwarranted, irrational anger.

“He’s still your friend.” Jihoon nearly whispers.

“I don’t-” Your voice catches. “I don’t think I can be his friend. I don’t think I can take this.”

Soonyoung laughs, but it isn’t unkind. “You can’t stay away from him.”

Your face crumples because he is right. You had stuck with Seungcheol because no one in your life understood you like he did. You had known him for so long that it was hard to imagine a time when you didn’t. You two were inseparable. You had spent all of college attached at the hip, and had gotten an apartment together immediately after graduation. You had years of history.

You still remember your first job interview, how you had bombed it completely and came home near tears that you would never get a job and your degree would be wasted. Seungcheol had indulged your wild imagination, comforting you, even rubbing your feet and running you a bath. You remember when a bakery opened around the corner and both of you fell in love with the blueberry croissants, to the point that it was all you ate for a week straight. Then both of you got so sick of them that you didn’t touch another croissant for months.

You remember when Seungcheol got a promotion at work, and you had spent the evening making him a three course meal to celebrate, all his favourite dishes from home. He had raved all through the meal, nearly in tears when he bit into the meat you had smoked all on your own, claiming it melted in his mouth. You had complained about the skillet and how the meat stuck on it because it was so old. The next day you found a brand new one on the kitchen counter, with a note that said you had to cook more food on it for him as a thank you.

There was a set of red Russian nesting dolls on the shelf in the living room that you bought at a flea market. Seungcheol thought they were hideous but you loved them. He always had something to say about them when he saw them, and it was never anything nice.

“Those are the eyes of someone planning murder.” He had said once, staring at the largest one. You snorted.

“They have every right to, after the way you’ve been shit talking them.”

When the smallest one got lost, Seungcheol spent the entire afternoon looking for it with you. When he found it, you nearly yelled with joy, planting a messy kiss on his cheek and promising him a reward.

(There was never a reward. He never brought it up.)

You remember when Seungcheol brought a girl home to the apartment one night. He had been seeing her for months by that point, but it didn’t hurt any less when he introduced you to her. It didn’t hurt less when they went into his room, and you heard the shuffling of clothes, and the dampened squeaking of the bed. Their efforts to keep quiet.

The walls were thin in that apartment.

In fact, they were so thin that you were woken one night to the sound of Seungcheol constantly shuffling around outside, footsteps heavy on the floor of the living room. When you poked your head out to look at him, he was surprised.

“Trouble sleeping?”

He just nodded. You opened your bedroom door farther, gesturing for him to come in. That night, he had curled into your side, half his weight heavy on your torso, cold toes pressing into your shins. You let him, feeling how he slowly relaxed as you ran your fingers through his hair, his breath evening out. He was so warm. You slept better than you had in weeks. And by the looks of him the next morning, so did he.

You loved him more than you had ever loved anyone else. You also felt more pain from him than anyone else. None of it was his fault. This was a monster of your own making, and now you were living with the consequences of it.

You don’t go home that day until well past sunset, and when you get back, Seungcheol is cooking dinner. It’s something spicy, by the smell of it, and you park yourself next to the counter. He looks at you expectantly, though you can see the worry etched on his face.

“Sorry about this morning.” You give him an apologetic smile. “I wasn’t expecting to see Mina. I guess it’s just a little weird to see her here because I see her at the office all the time.”

Seungcheol’s mouth tightens into a thin line. “That’s my fault. I should’ve texted and warned you.”

There’s a small silence before he continues. “I guess…. you will get used to it slowly.”

Oh. You blink and nod, sending him a smile that feels more like a grimace. “Of course.”

Seungcheol has been the dealer of a lot of pain in your life. But you would rather have that than nothing at all.

……………………………………

Mina does start coming over more often, unsurprisingly. When it isn’t her in your apartment, it’s Seungcheol who leaves to spend the night at hers, and you try to adjust to cooking one portion instead of two. You slowly get accustomed to her presence in your life outside the office, but funnily enough, you two talk less now. She seems to be more engrossed in work, and when she isn’t doing that, she’s on her phone (You try not to think of Seungcheol texting her). It isn’t until a few weeks later that you realise what exactly caused the shift in her.

You are baking in the kitchen, which you rarely do, but you know Seungcheol loves your brownie recipe and you had nothing else going on, so you start making a batch. He whooped in celebration when he found you folding flour into the batter, draping himself over your back to look down into the bowl. You are trying to push his arm away from the bowl to stop him from licking the batter, and failing terribly, complaining about how heavy he is, when a throat clears behind you. Seungcheol rips himself away from you at the speed of light, and you are confused by his reaction until you see Mina’s gaze hardened, lips twisted, staring at you both. You nearly shrink back, bending over the bowl immediately to avoid looking at her, ignoring the sound of Seungcheol shuffling towards her and following her out of the kitchen.

You shouldn’t be surprised. It’s only understandable. You and Seungcheol are uncomfortably close to the outside eye. He thrives on attention and physical affection, and you love giving it. Seungcheol had only been serious with maybe one or two girls, so it hasn’t been an active problem. Clearly it is now.

You hadn’t noticed before, but thinking back, there is now an established distance between you two. You had chalked it up to Seungcheol just not being around as much, but you wonder if it was intentional on his behalf. Perhaps Mina had told him to. You feel a zip of irritation at the thought, but you tamp it down quickly. You have no claim on Seungcheol’s affections. That is all her. You are not entitled to his love even though it feels like you are.

As Christmas nears, you begin struggling with this new ‘distance’ a lot more than you thought you would. Seungcheol sits with the littlest of gaps between you two on the couch now, and you miss the warmth of his arm and leg pressed to yours, the cushion on his broad shoulder that you could rest your head on. He plays with your hair less, hugs you less, and never offers to rub your feet after a tiring day at work anymore. The pet names are all but gone, not even the teasing use of “cupcake”, which he knows you hate, and conversation gets so formal you wonder if you did something to secretly offend him.

You realise how ingrained Seungcheol is in every part of your life when his absence suddenly leaves your days empty. Winters in particular feel too lonely, when there is no noise from your desk fan to fill the space, when your windows have frosted over and you sit on the couch with a mug of hot chocolate. Not coffee, hot chocolate. Seungcheol loves it when you make the real stuff, not the powdered one that comes in little packets, but the one with whole milk and melted chocolate. You indulge yourself by adding marshmallows in your mug, and you wonder if you are just doing tiny things to fill space, in your mind and around you.

There is less of Seungcheol in the apartment too. His shoes aren’t in the foyer, and his jacket isn’t draped over the back of the couch for you to find and scold him over (‘the cupboard is right there!’). Your idea of commuting together pretty much evaporates, and you are back to separate cars. His perfume, a characteristic scent he has worn since college, doesn’t waft unbearably in the corridor outside his room as often as it used to. When it does, now occasionally, you pause in the space, breathing him in.

You miss him.

You remember that first morning you had seen them together in the kitchen, when you had looked back on your times with him and decided, you would rather have him as a friend than not have him at all.

Is he even your friend anymore? Or is he just your roommate?

On the last day of work before Christmas holidays, Mina shows up at your cubicle for the first time in a while. It catches you off guard, but you try not to let it show.

“Seungcheol and some of his friends at work are going out for drinks later. You should come.”

You bristle at the words, at her tone. Why does she sound like she’s doing you a favor by inviting you? Or are you just paranoid now, biased against her? You agree nonetheless, and are left wondering why Seungcheol wouldn’t just ask you instead of relaying the word through his girlfriend. The thought sends knives searing through your chest.

Distance.

He picks you two up after work, insisting he would drop you off at your car later. On the way there, you watch their heads from the backseat, and you contemplate, for the first time in years, if you should look for a place of your own and move out. It wouldn’t work, obviously. The rent in this area is too steep for one person. You wonder if Soonyoung and Jihoon can take you in, dismissing the option almost immediately. Their place isn’t built for three people. And you have burdened them enough with your problems already.

You are still in your head a bit when you arrive at the bar, and exaggerated cheers stun you from your musings when you approach the table. You smile at Jeonghan, Joshua and Mingyu. You had known them almost as long as Seungcheol did, but you obviously saw them way less. They worked with him, and were some of the most fun people to have drinks with. You decide you will let loose tonight, shunning the woeful thoughts in your head. You had spent too long suspended in this feeling of not being wanted.

It quickly devolves into chaos from there. Mingyu doesn’t let you breathe between the first three shots, claiming you need to ‘loosen up first’. By the time you get around to updating them about your life, you are already swaying, making Joshua laugh and throw an arm over your shoulder to still you. His entire face is flushed a comical shade of red, and you wonder how much he had drunk already in such a short time. You can feel eyes on you, and you choose to ignore them, feeling like your company is wanted for the first time in weeks.

“How’s the new place?” You ask over the music at Jeonghan, who is busy mixing two or three drinks into whatever atrocious concoction he wants to drink. Jeonghan and Joshua had shared an apartment for the longest time, and had just upgraded to a better place some weeks ago. Something with a balcony like Joshua always wanted.

“Oh, it’s great! Empty, though.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “What do you mean?”

“It’s three bedrooms.”

You stare at him, and in your inebriated state, you don’t think of the consequences of your next words. “I could move in with you.”

Three sets of shocked, wide brown eyes look at you. You flush under the attention and thank the gods that Seungcheol has gone to the bar with Mina for more drinks.

“You’re moving out?” Mingyu scowls at you, and you feel almost offended by how accusatory his tone is. You shrug.

“I’m thinking about it.”

Joshua worries his bottom lip between his teeth. “Are you sure? I mean- does Seungcheol know?”

You fidget a bit, regretting saying anything at all. You weren’t being entirely serious, fuelled by alcohol and the slight anger you had been harbouring towards your best friend. Jeonghan doesn’t say anything as you sputter over your words trying to answer his friends, his eyes boring holes in the side of your head. His silence unnerves you. He is closest to Seungcheol out of all of them.

“Maybe you should.” He finally says, and his words are unexpected. “Change might shock both of you awake.”

“Maybe you should what?” Seungcheol’s voice cuts through your confusion at Jeonghan’s words.

You don’t answer him, grabbing a shot glass instead of saying anything, immediately downing it and reaching for the next one already. Jeonghan doesn’t stop looking at you.

“Move out.” Jeonghan answers him, and Seungcheol’s head immediately shoots to your direction. He looks stricken, like he can’t believe his ears.

“You’re moving out?” He asks you, and you shake your head vigorously.

“Then why is he saying you are?” His tone turns accusatory, and you frown at him.

“Even if I am, what’s the big deal?”

“What’s the big deal?!” Seungcheol looks positively angry at your words, standing up abruptly to leave the table. You all watch him make his way over to the bar, plopping down on a stool.

You have to give Mina props for not saying anything at all about Seungcheol’s massive overreaction, instead just giving you all a smile and excusing herself from the table. She doesn’t walk over to Seungcheol though. You watch her make her way to the door of the bar and disappear out of it. Jeonghan whistles.

“Well, that happened quicker than I thought it would.”

You tsk at him, reaching for another drink. You had expected Seungcheol to react badly, but not as bad as this, and not in front of his girlfriend. You feel a bit bad for Mina. But you feel almost worse for yourself. You will have to deal with him when you get home.

Or you could get shitfaced, and avoid confrontation altogether. You choose option 2.

Jeonghan ends up driving everyone home, since the rest of you decided no work tomorrow meant drinking until you can’t see straight. You whine at him to not leave you with Seungcheol, who has gotten even more pouty after drinking, cheeks flushed and eyes barely open. Jeonghan pointedly ignores your pleas and dumps both of you in front of your building.

“C’mon.” Seungcheol holds an arm out. “Hold on to me for support.”

You snort at him. “You aren’t exactly stable.”

“Hold on to me right now or I’m going to lose it, cupcake.”

You boo at him but do what he says, gripping his bicep, and slowly you two begin the impossible trek upstairs. He is humming a familiar tune when you finally push the apartment door open, raising his arms above his head in triumph.

“We’re so good at being drunk.” He grins at you, and you giggle back, unable to resist digging your fingertips into his dimples. His gaze is hazy but his eyes sparkle bright regardless. You can feel yourself forgetting being angry at him already, just happy to feel his so close, his hands on your arms and waist, his head falling on your shoulder, his body heat so near your own skin.

Taking your shoes off takes much longer than expected, Seungcheol is tugging on your boot at one point, and then both of you make a beeline to your room, still in suspiciously wet socks, collapsing on top of the covers.

You don’t know if you imagine it. If you’re just drunk and in your feelings, but Seungcheol mumbles something quietly. It’s barely above a whisper, but in the dead of the night it sounds as loud as a siren.

“Don’t move out.”

You turn to look blearily at him. His hair is spread like a halo around his head, falling over your pillows. He hadn’t cut it in a while, determined to grow it out. He reminded you of a prince. His eyes are trained on you through the strands of brown falling over them, and they look clearer than his drunk state might suggest. Despite the blush high on his cheeks, his skin looks like porcelain. You turn your gaze to the ceiling.

“I can’t be around you, Cheol. It hurts.”

He watches you, unblinking, until he moves a bit, shuffles closer to you so you can feel his breath in your cheek.

“And I can’t live without you. It hurts.”

You smile bitterly. “You’ve been fine with Mina.”

He scowls and shakes his head. “Mina isn’t you.”

You turn your head to him then, and his nose brushes against your own. At this proximity, you watch the streaks of brown in his eyes, dark and welcoming, like bottomless pools. You want to kiss him so badly it makes the pit of your stomach ache. Instead, you let your eyelids flutter shut, resigned to being so close, but never close enough.

When you wake up the next morning, you are swaddled in what feels like ten blankets, and it’s only when your haze clears that you realise it’s actually Seungcheol attached to your back like a koala bear, one leg pushed between your own and arms so tight around your middle that you are unsure if you feel nauseous because of the hangover or because of the pressure he is putting on your stomach. You dig your elbow back into his ribs, and he groans.

“I’m gonna be sick.” His voice is throaty, and despite your raging headache, your breath hitches.

“If you yarf on my bed I’m making you clean it up.”

He lets out another pained noise, pushing away from you and groggily standing up to walk straight out of the room. Minutes later, you hear him throwing up in the toilet. You sigh.

You can’t bring yourself to think of last night, how normal it felt to be around Seungcheol like that after weeks of not speaking more than a few words at a time. You have missed him terribly. And you think once more of how painful it was trying to move on from him while living in the same place, surrounded by everything you two built together.

Mina isn’t you.

You can’t bring yourself to think about what he meant. You are exhausted. You feel sick and your head is pounding. And your throat feels dry as sandpaper. You slowly get up to trudge to the kitchen, downing two whole glasses of water and feeling much better afterward. The shower is running at this point, and you check your messages while you wait.

When you hear the bathroom door open and close, followed by footsteps and another door, you realise Seungcheol has disappeared into his room. You take that opportunity to use the bathroom yourself, letting the water wash away last night, the feeling of his fingertips, still like ghosts on your skin. You wonder what it would’ve felt like if you really had pushed forward last night and kissed him.

You would never do that. But still. A girl can dream.

By the time you reemerge, the apartment is eerily quiet. Seungcheol’s bedroom door is wide open, and his shoes are gone from the foyer. Good. You needed space anyway. If he hadn’t left, you would’ve.

He doesn’t return until late that night. You meander through the apartment. Ordering lunch and wasting time on the internet. Jeonghan texts to ask how you’re doing, you reply shortly. You still aren’t particularly happy with him for telling Seungcheol that you were considering moving out. Hell, you are sure it wouldn’t have amounted to anything anyway. You would’ve chickened out and stayed there, not exactly a fan of change. All this should never have been mentioned in the first place.

When the door finally opens, it’s well after sundown. Seungcheol is breathing heavily and he pushes his shoes off, and you glimpse a thin sheen of sweat over his hairline.

“You were running? It’s freezing out.” You comment, watching him from the couch. He pushes his hair off his forehead and it stays there, likely because it’s wet too. The seriousness on his face makes you pause.

“I broke up with Mina.”

You gape at him. “You what?”

He makes a beeline for you, both hands gripping the back of the couch on either side of you with a thud, knee on the seat holding him up, before his lips are crashing into yours. You gasp at the sudden intrusion, mind and body scrambling to catch up with what is happening. Your hands automatically rest on his shoulders, gripping hard. You don’t know if you want to pull him closer or push him away. His teeth nip on your bottom lip, and the sensation zips through your body, making a decision for you.

You kiss back hard, using his sweatshirt to pull him closer until he is collapsing on top of you, both of you sliding down the couch. Your leg hooks around his waist, and you breathe in his sigh. It hits you, mid kiss, that you are finally kissing Seungcheol. After so long of imagining it, his lips are on yours, softer than anything. He tastes like that mint chewing gum he often carries around, and you can still smell his shampoo, now mixed with the heady scent of his sweat cooling on his skin.

He pushes you into the cushions, and his weight feels therapeutic, like a weighted blanket on your limbs after a long, tiring day. His hand grips your thigh hard, encouraging you to hitch it up further around his torso. His skin is slightly sticky from the sweat, and his hair is falling over your eyes. His tongue is dancing with your own, running over your teeth and the roof of your mouth, engulfing you so completely that you feel like you cannot breathe. You feel a rush of emotion.

“I’ve wanted this,” you manage to mumble into his lips, voice cracking, “for so long.”

He breaks away from you for just a second, enough to look down at you, but you already miss him. He brushes a hand over your cheek, and you realise you really are crying.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers, voice clogged with such intense regret that you feel another wave of tears coming. “I’m so sorry. It should’ve been you. It was always you. It could never be anyone else.”

He means it, you can tell. And it makes you tug him down until you’re kissing him again, reveling in the feeling of how his lips meld so perfectly with yours. His cheeks sink under the pressure of your fingertips, his eyelashes brush delicately against your skin. He engulfs all of your senses until you don’t know where you end and where he begins.

When it isn’t enough, because it could never be enough for you, you are too greedy for every inch of him, you paw at his clothes. You want them off, want to feel his bare torso attach itself to your own. It’s a desire so acute you nearly scream. Seungcheol obliges, pulling his sweatshirt off in one fluid motion and throwing it away somewhere neither of you care to look at. He doesn’t reattach to your lips until your sweater is gone too, and then his arms are snaking under your back to pull you flush against him, kissing you briefly before his mouth is traveling down past your face to nip at the sensitive skin of your neck. His breath sends shivers down your spine, tensing up at the sensations. His tongue flicks out to swipe at the skin below your ear before he is biting down at it, softly at first to test the waters, before digging deep enough to elicit a satisfied sigh from you. You run your fingertips delicately up his spine, basking in the way he shivers under your touch, lips still sucking, now harsher, as if determined to mark you as his. You let him, encourage him even. You are his. You have been his for so long, and he is finally laying his claim.

His hands fiddle with the waistband of your pajamas, fingertips dipping in and out in little intervals. Your hips buck up, impatient, and he chuckles, biting down on your collarbone in warning.

“Be good.”

His voice is firm and deep, and you know he means business. It makes you want to rebel even more, and you buck up again. He grips your hips tight, holding you in place, lips leaving you with a last, delicious slurping sound before he is looking you in the eyes.

“Is that how it’s going to be, baby?” His hips come down, grinding into you, and you can feel that he is rock hard already. A thrill runs up your core at the feeling, and suddenly you want him to be completely naked. You want to see his cock, feel its weight in your palm, on your tongue, inside your pussy, stretching you until you can’t think straight. You can feel how wet you are already, clenching desperately around nothing at all. You feel hot all over, and the remaining clothes you have on feel like they are too much.

“Please, Cheolie.” You whine, trying to jerk up again. It doesn’t work, his hold is too strong. “Take my clothes off.”

He tsks then, smirking down at you. He’s enjoying this a little too much, watching you squirm under him. But it seems he wants you just as bad, because then he is sliding down your bottoms and panties at the same time, leaving you bare for his eyes to wander over. He hooks his hands under your knees, pushing them back until they are touching your chest and you are laid open for him. You have the decency to flush at the hungry look in his eyes, but you bask in the attention anyway. You like how his eyes roam over your naked body, how they zero in on your sopping cunt. You arch your back slightly and his gaze flickers up, lips twitching with amusement.

He lets you go long enough to discard his own pants, and you don’t have time to admire him in his nude glory before he is pulling you close again, bending over you to bury his face in your neck.

“I want to pamper you and spoil you,” he whispers. “And I will, promise. But I need to be inside you so bad right now.”

You buck up into him again, his cock sliding through your slit in a delicious drag that has your legs twitching. He pulls back to grind into you again, but the tip catches on your hole and pulls groans out of both of you, and you can’t take it anymore.

You scramble to reach for him, lining him up and encouraging him to push forward, spearing through you in a way that makes your jaw go slack and your toes curl.

He’s big. Thick and curved up slightly so that the head of his cock presses urgently into the spongy spot inside you. His hips press flush into your skin and he stays there for a second, voice broken and pitched in a way you had never heard before. He has a flush high on his cheekbones, and his eyes struggle to remain open. You watch a drop of sweat roll down the side of his face, watch the slight tremble of his biceps as they frame your face. You are in awe as you watch him fall apart in real time. All because of you.

When he pulls back just a bit just to thrust into you again, you clench hard, feeling the familiar tug in the pit of your stomach. He curses roughly, breath coming in staccato.

“Don’t-” His jaw ticks. “I’m gonna cum. I’m so serious. Don’t do that.”

You let out a breathless laugh, only responding by clenching again. He groans and pulls out again, and this time he wastes no time in setting a punishing pace. You immediately arch up, head falling back as your body locks at the feeling. He seems to know exactly what angle to take, what spot to hit, despite this being the first time you two are having sex, and you would wonder why if all rational thought wasn’t leaving your head at that very moment. You gasp and moan with very thrust, unable to hold back your sounds. Seungcheol is only encouraged more, propping himself up by his hands on either side of your head to thrust harder.

Your world spins and turns on its angle, and you feel heavy with sensation. Your hands try to hold on to something, scraping against the rough material of the couch, but there’s nothing. There’s only Seungcheol above you, thrusting hard and heavy into you until you feel full enough to burst. Your cunt weeps, leaking around him, and Seungcheol’s stare is hard locked on where his shaft sinks into you over and over, collecting a thin rim of white foam around it. He curses again and you cry out at a particularly hard thrust.

A thin layer of sweat is slowly forming over your body, despite how cold the air around you is. Your breath comes fast and staggered, and breathing is the least of your concern at this moment, frankly. You are laser focused on how he is tearing your poor pussy open over and over, and on the feeling of his strong thighs just under your legs, stiffened with the strain of his movements, his strength that you had wondered about for so long, now on full display. You wonder if he will break you. You hope he does.

His hair covers half his face, and your eyes zero in on the cushion of his lips, parted, tongue poking out just a bit, and you want to bite them. You want to mark him up, scratch at his back, dig your teeth into his bottom lip until he is locking up and pouring ropes of his cum deep into your cunt. You reach up to dig your nails into his biceps, trying to tug him down to your mouth. You catch the skin of his jaw and you nip at it, making his hips stutter a bit.

“Greedy girl.” His voice is rough with need, clogging his vocal cords, making him sound as wrecked as you feel. “My cock isn’t enough for you?”

“‘S so big,” you whine, batting your wet eyelashes up at him. Predictably, it drives him crazy, his motions get rougher. “You’re so big, Cheolie. I can barely take it.”

He chuckles. “I disagree, baby. You’re taking me like a champ.”

His hands wind into your hair, pushing it from your face so he can take in your sweaty forehead, your flushed cheeks. He tugs hard until you are arching up, and chills run through your scalp.

“Opened up for me so well. You were just made to take my cock, weren’t you? Just perfect for me. God, I could fuck you for hours.”

You sob when his hand reaches down, pressing on your clit hard before he starts rubbing. You jerk up against him, but he is unphased, continuing to dig his cock through your insides while his fingers insistently pull you closer to the edge. Your orgasm, simmering just below the surface, catches fire, and you can’t even warn him before you wail and gush all over his cock, limbs locking in place as his cock drags over your wildly contracting walls, prolonging the feeling. You can hear him curse again through the roaring in your ears, and then warmth floods your walls until you feel full with it. White hot lava rolls through you, and you try hard to breathe through it, eyelids fluttering open to watch as Seungcheol rides through his own high with you.

All is silent for a few seconds apart from the heavy breathing. Seungcheol lowers himself gently down on you, burying his face in your neck. He kisses the skin softly, and you tilt your head to let him plant more along the surface. You feel him slowly soften inside you. Something wet trickles out of your hole. You flush at the feeling.

“We’re going to have to shower again. In this cold.”

His chest rumbles with a laugh, and he looks up to grin cheekily at you. “I won’t let you get cold, sweets.”

You slap his shoulder playfully, making him laugh more. He pulls out of you, not bothering to offer a hand, sliding his arms under you to pick you up. You let him, burrowing your face into his neck, trying hard to fight off a growing smile.

Jisung had never brought a girl home for the holidays—especially not a city girl. But here he was, leaning against the doorframe of his childhood bedroom in his parents’ ranch, watching you fuss with the hem of your dress in the mirror. The corners of his mouth twitched upward. He could already hear his friends teasing him. 

“Babe…” he began, sneaking up behind you to wrap a hand around your waist. “It’s just a little dive bar. You don’t have to wear a dress—”

You turned to face him, one perfectly manicured hand resting on your hip, the fabric clinging to your curves in a way that made his mouth go dry. “The dress is cute, Jisung. I’m wearing it.”

You pick up the black heels Jisung had picked out for your birthday—surprisingly pretty for a country boy with calloused hands and mud-splattered boots. Slipping them on, you smile as he takes you in from head to toe with a thick gulp. 

“It’s not that it’s not cute,” he mumbles, shoving a hand through his hair. “It’s just… People don’t usually dress up to drink beer around here.”

You grabbed your coat and gave Jisung a quick peck on the cheek, effectively shutting down any of his further protests. He always does this, gets in his head about the silliest things. 

 “Well, maybe they should,” you quipped, your heels clicking against the wooden floor as you headed for the door. “And besides, I’m not from around here.”

Jisung sighed, reaching for his own jacket while trying to ignore how the sight of you in those heels made his chest tighten. “It’s a small town, Y/N, we don’t get newcomers often. People are gonna stare.”

You paused at the door, glancing over your shoulder with a teasing smile. “Let them.”

Jisung shook his head, his lips twitching into a reluctant smile as he followed you out to his truck. The drive to the bar was quiet but comfortable, the faint hum of country music from the radio filling the car. He stole glances at you as he drove, his chest tightening every time he caught the way the traffic lights reflected off the pretty necklace settled into the cleavage of your chest.

That measly little jewel probably cost the same price as the dive bars around here, if not more. When Jisung finally parked in the gravel lot, you stepped out, your heels clicking sharply against the ground like you were walking into a five-star restaurant instead of a bar with duct-taped barstools and a jukebox that only half-worked. Jisung couldn’t help but laugh softly to himself—his friends were going to have a field day ribbing him for this.

Inside, the low hum of chatter and the twang of a guitar drifted from the jukebox, and the faint smell of beer and peanuts lingered in the air. Jisung spotted his friends immediately—Chenle, Mark, and Jeno huddled around a table in the corner, beers in hand, their laughter loud. 

“There he is!” Chenle’s voice rang out over the chatter, a wide grin spreading across his face as he stood to clap Jisung on the back. His eyes flicked to you, his grin growing impossibly wider. “And this must be the city girl we’re always hearing about.” His eyes flick to your feet. “The one with fancy heels.”

“Very fancy,” Jeno added, his eyes also dropping to your shoes. 

You roll your eyes and bite back a retort. Instead, you allow them to lead you to their table, which was already sticky with spilt beer and the remnants of forgotten nachos. You perched carefully on the edge of your seat, legs crossed, the hem of your dress riding just a little higher than Jisung would’ve liked. He sat beside you, thigh pressed against yours, one hand lazily draped across the back of your chair, the other resting possessively on your knee. 

Mark raises his bottle toward you. “You’re a good sport for coming out tonight. Most people from the city would’ve run a mile the second they saw the mounted deer heads in here.”

“I’m not that brave,” you let out a playful chuckle, “I gotta say, they’re a little creepy.”

Just then, Jeno leaned in, nodding toward the little crowd gathered near the back of the bar. “You’re just in time. Jaemin’s up.”

All eyes turned toward the mechanical bull, where Jaemin—one of Jisung’s childhood friends, apparently known for his total lack of fear and abundance of poor judgment—was psyching himself up to take on the challenge. The operator hit the switch. The bull kicked into motion.

At first, Jaemin held on surprisingly well. Cheers echoed through the bar as he flailed his free arm dramatically, hamming it up like a true showman.

“Look at him go!” Mark hooted.

“He’s gonna break his tailbone again,” Jeno said around a mouthful of fries.

Then the bull jerked hard left—and Jaemin was launched like a rag doll, landing on his back with a loud thump and an even louder groan.

You visibly winced. “Ouch.”

Chenle caught it. Instantly.

“Aww,” he drawled, tilting his head toward you with a mischievous smirk. “That too rough for you, city girl?”

Jisung didn’t miss a beat. “Watch it.”

That only made Chenle grin wider. “What? I’m just saying, we all know you, she probably can’t handle anything that gets a little rough and tough.”

You turned slowly, lips curling into a sweet, deadly smile. “Is that right?”

Jisung shifted beside you, hand tightening just slightly on your thigh. “Babe…”

But you were already standing.

“Someone sign me up,” you said, downing the last sip of your drink and tossing your coat onto the back of your chair. “I’ll show you what a city girl can handle.”

The boys went feral. Chenle practically howled, Jeno pounded the table, and Mark nearly fell off his chair.

Jisung stared at you, his eyes sharp and teeth tight. “You’re not serious.”

“Oh, I’m dead serious,” you tossed over your shoulder as you made your way toward the pit.

Jisung watched you walk away, his jaw slack. “You guys are so dead if she breaks her ankle.”

You made your way, weaving through the crowd with determination, the clink of your heels on the wood floor cutting through the noise of rowdy laughter and country music. You weren’t doing this for them—not really. This wasn’t about proving something to Chenle or Jeno or any of the wide-eyed boys hollering from the table. This was about you.

You were sick of the looks. The patronising smirks. The constant “city girl” jabs. Like wearing lipstick and spending money on jewellery made you fragile. Soft. Less than.

As you approached the edge of the bull ring, a few older locals, all men, leaned against the rail, beers in hand, smirking like they’d already written you off. 

“Careful up there, sweetheart,” one of them called. “That thing’s mean.” Another one chuckled. “Don’t chip a nail.”

You didn’t even look at them. Didn’t blink. Just climbed the platform with a calm, practised grace, heels disregarded now, your bare feet silent on the rubber mat as you swung one leg over the mechanical animal.

The bull was cool beneath your thighs, the leather seat slightly worn down. You wrapped your fingers around the rope, adjusted your posture, and locked your legs like you’d seen Jaemin do—except you meant business. No theatrics. No flailing limbs or cocky smiles.

The operator raised a brow at you, half amused. “You need me to show you the ropes, Princess?”

“No,” you said. “Start it.”

Behind you, the boys were still hooting—Mark yelling something incoherent, Chenle practically foaming at the mouth—but your eyes stayed fixed forward. Your jaw clenched.

You weren’t here to play cute.

You were here to hold on.

And prove every last one of them wrong.

The bull jolted beneath you with a sudden snap of motion—but you didn’t flinch.

You wrapped your fingers tighter around the rope, feeling its rough texture against your skin. Your legs locking around the bull's body, thighs flexing and back arching to hold on as tight as possible as it bucked and twisted beneath you.

The crowd leaned in, watching as you matched its rhythm with so much control. Every roll of your hips, every sway of your torso—it wasn’t just balance. It was command.

You weren’t holding on for dear life like Jaemin had. You were riding it. Owning it.

And people noticed.

“Holy hell,” someone near the front hissed through clenched teeth. Then a whistle cut through the air, followed by a crude comment that made Jisung’s knuckles go white.

“Damn, whoever she’s riding like that at night is a lucky son of a bitch.”

There were groans, gasps, even a few slow claps as you leaned back just enough to taunt gravity—and won. The hem of your dress rode high along your thighs, pink panties peeking out just enough to tease, your hair whipping around your face. 

Jisung’s jaw locked. He hadn’t taken his eyes off you once. His fingers drumming furiously against the beer bottle in front of him, the other hand clenched in a fist on his thigh. Every lewd comment hit him like a shot to the gut.

Mark leaned in, grinning. “Dude, your girl is killing it.”

Chenle howled beside him, half-laughing, half-stunned. “Woah. I take everything back—she might be the hot—”

“Finish that sentence, Chenle, and I will murder you,” Jiusng deadpans, making his other friends laugh. 

But he wasn’t laughing.

Not even close.

All he could do was watch as you swayed effortlessly on top of that bull, powerful and magnetic, while a sea of half-drunk cowboys who didn’t deserve to look at you muttered under their breath like they were seeing something holy. And they were, except it wasn’t theirs to gawk at. 

His jaw ticked. His eyes stayed locked on you. And his pulse pounded with something that felt a whole lot like possession.

Not because he didn’t want you to ride.

But because they didn’t deserve to watch.

The longer you rode, the tighter Jisung’s grip on his beer bottle hardened. He didn’t care if it smashed and sliced up his skin; nothing would compare to the rage bubbling in the pit of his stomach right now. Every time you shifted, every time your body moved with the bull, your tits bounced, dress rode up, comments flew.

He felt like he couldn’t breathe. 

His chair scraped back across the floor with a harsh screech as he stood, the sound sharp enough to cut through the cheers. His eyes were locked on you—still moving like you belonged up there, and he hated it. He cut across the floor, ignoring the way heads turned as he passed, ignoring the crude commentary still dripping from the lips of too many drunk, wide-eyed men. He had to, if he didn’t, he’s certain he’d be facing an assault charge. 

You caught him approaching from the corner of your eye just as the bull slowed, the operator eyeing Jisung warily. You gripped the rope with one hand and looked down at him, breathless but unbothered. 

“Stop, Y/N,” Jisung growls, his voice carrying over the buzz of the bar. “Get down.”

Your brows lifted, chest still heaving, but before you could answer, a guy at a nearby table—cowboy hat tipped too far back, lips shiny with beer—slurred, “Aw, c’mon, man. Don’t kill the fun!”

“Yeah, man! She’s giving us a show. She’s got that bull beggin’ for mercy,” another slurred voice. Then another: “She’s got me beggin’ for mercy!”

You felt the shift immediately—not in the machine beneath you, but in the room. The energy, the tone. The cheers had morphed into something different. Something gross. Objectifying. Disrespectful.

Your eyes flicked to Jisung.

Standing at the edge of the pit, hands clenched into fists at his sides, jaw tight enough to crack. His eyes burned—worry and anger twisted together behind the fury of protectiveness. You could practically feel it pulsing from him, the way his whole body was saying: Enough.

And that’s when you made your decision.

You swung your leg over the bull and dismounted in one smooth, grounded move. The guys nearby booed. Someone whined, “Aw, c’mon, sweetheart, don’t stop now,” but you ignored them.

Because the only person in the room whose opinion mattered was the one pleading with you. You walked right up to him.

He looked at you, eyes stormy. “You’ve made your point,” he said roughly. “We can leave—”

You didn’t let him finish. Instead, you reached up, tugged his hat off his head, and slid it onto your own, tilting it just so.

His breath hitched.

“I may be a city girl,” you said purposefully loud enough for every invasive man in that dive bar to hear, “but I know the rule…” 

You stepped in closer, chest to chest, your fingers curling around the front of his shirt.

“Wear the hat…” —your voice dropped to a whisper, sultry and teasing as your lips brushed his ear— “…ride the cowboy.”

Jisung’s breath stuttered. A growl curled low in his throat. His hand was on your lower back in a second, guiding you, almost possessively.

“Truck. Now.”

You don’t really remember much after the dive bar—just a blur of quick goodbyes, the creak of Jisung’s truck door, and the hum of tires on gravel. What sticks with you is the way his fingers curled tight around the steering wheel, the hard line of his jaw, and the thick, loaded tension hanging between you as he drove back to his family’s ranch. 

That same tension that followed you up the porch, then slammed you against the living room wall. His mouth on yours—hot, messy, impatient—while old family photos rattled and fell to the floor.

And thank God his parents weren’t home. Because fuck, nothing was going to stop him from making sure you kept your promise.

Ride the cowboy. 

You had no problem putting on a show for every fucker within a five mile radius—so when Jisung hooks your legs around his waist, carries you to his bedroom, and finally gets you naked, exposed and laid out bare for him, he decides he wants a show of his own.

The exclusive one.

The private one. 

The one just for him. 

“Sit on my cock, Y/N,” he says, voice almost pleading but overpowered with a command. 

He’s looking at you, at the mess he’s made you in the last ten minutes with his tongue. You’re completely wrecked—chest falling with shaky breaths, lips swollen, skin flushed and covered in the marks he likes to leave behind. Marks he wishes were permanent. 

Because look, Jisung may be desperate right now, but he’s not selfish with you. Never would be. He always makes sure you cum first—likes to wring you out until you’re trembling—before expecting you to take his cock. 

“Don’t make me beg,” he mutters, leaning in, breath hot against your cheek. “Not tonight. Because I won’t.” 

You pout, teasing, hips shifting to straddle him and make him twitch beneath you as he slides up the bed, resting his back against the headboard. 

“But I like it when you beg.” 

“And I like being the only one who sees your panties,” he bites back, eyes narrowing. “But that didn’t happen tonight, did it?”

Your smirk fades just a little, and he lets out a low growl, hands gripping your hips tight enough to bruise. 

“So, sit on my cock, baby,” he says lowly, “Ride me. Because that’s the only way this is going to work tonight.”

You bite down on your lip, fingers wrapping around the base of your boyfriend’s cock as you run him through your dripping folds, teasing his head slick and slow. “God, I think I love it even more when you’re bossy.”

You breathe out—barely a whisper, words all shaky and broken because you sink down on him. Your pussy taking every impaling inch of him inside you through a single motion. Jisung’s head falls back, dilated eyes fluttering closed as his pink lips part on a sharp exhale. 

“Move,” he growls instantly, hand gripping a handful of your ass, fingers digging in hard.

It’s different tonight. Jisung usually likes to take his time. Wants to feel every second of the way you fit around him—loves to savour the stretch. To sit in the feeling of knowing he’s the closest he can possibly be to you before chasing his high. But right now, that isn't that. Now there’s no patience, no softness in his tone.

This isn’t needy. It’s commanding. Dominant. And you’re not about to deny him.

You start to move—gentle at first, just to tease, rolling your hips in lazy circles as you adjust to the full size of him. And the way he watches you… it pulls a needy little sound from the back of your throat.

His eyes are glued on you. Hooded and dark. Jaw locked as he drinks in every inch of your body. The bounce of your thighs, the way your tits move with each grind, the slick drag of your cunt around him—it’s all too much and still not enough.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, fingers digging into your skin, guiding your pace as you start to ride him harder. “Look at you…taking me like that.” 

You toss your head back with a moan, letting his grip take over your rhythm, whilst he watches like he’s mesmerised—obsessed. Because he is. 

His hands slide up your waist, thumbs brushing over your hips before he moves one to your stomach, pressing down just enough for you to feel where he is inside you.

“Right there,” he murmurs, breath catching. “You feel that? That’s mine. All fucking mine. All fucking yours.”

You whimper, grinding down harder as his cock hits that spot that always makes your legs shake. Jisung’s eyes darken even more—half-lidded, smug, wrecked.

“God, you’re so hot,” he sighs, one hand coming up to cup your breast while the other stays pressed to your stomach. “So fuckin’ good at this now.”

“Always been good at this,” you say, breathless, trying your best to stay in control—but that one comment. It has him bucking up suddenly, pulling a sharp gasp from your lips.

“Yeah?” he rasps, voice rough as his hands guide you to ride faster, harder. “You think that’s all you, baby? It’s not. I taught you this.”

Your eyes flutter, the words hitting just as deep as his cock. “Jisung—”

He grins proudly. “I made you this good. Trained you to ride my cock just like that. Look at you—fuck—you take me like you were made for me.” His thumb brushes over your clit, teasing and pressing. “My perfect fucking girl.”

You can’t even form a proper response—just moan and clench around him as you chase your high, the pleasure climbing fast and sharp.

“Remember when you couldn’t even take half of me without crying?” he murmurs, grinning through gritted teeth. 

You lean forward, palms on his chest, moving faster, harder, desperate. "Jisung," you gasp, nails digging into his skin. "I'm close—"

The tension in your body reaches a breaking point. The desperate roll of your hips, the way he hits all the right spots—it’s too much. And then, fuck, it hits. The pleasure crashes over you, your pussy trembling, clenching around him like a vice. You collapse forward into his neck, kissing along the curve of his skin as you whine, your orgasm rippling through you, gripping tight around his cock.

But Jisung doesn’t stop. He holds your hips in place, groaning as your walls flutter around him, his cock continuing to slide in and out of your pussy with a punishing force. 

“Don’t fucking stop,” he rasps, his breath hot against your ear. “Keep going, baby. Keep riding your cowboy like you promised.”

You can barely catch your breath, but his words push you forward. You force yourself to keep moving, keep meeting his thrusts even as your body trembles, still sensitive from your orgasm. His cock stays hard inside you, unforgiving, and his hands guide your every motion—pushing you to put on a show for him—for him alone.

“Fuck,” he groans again, his eyes locked on the way your body bounces over him. “Atta girl, Make it good for me.”

Your legs are burning from the effort, but you won’t disappoint him. You want him to feel as good as you do. So you push yourself harder, your hips rolling down onto him with all the control you can muster. The wet, slick sounds of your movements mix with the breathless moans escaping your lips. 

Jisung’s hands slip down lower, fingers finding your clit again, rubbing small, teasing circles that have you gasping. It’s as if he’s trying to kill you with the over-stimulation, and with the way he looks at you, you know—this is his way of punishing you for how mad he was earlier.

“I fucking love the way you ride me, Y/N,” he whispers, his voice rough. “You’re so fucking perfect—Fuck… I’m gonna cum,” he groans. His hands move to your waist, pulling you down harder against him, forcing you to take him deeper.

“Please,” you rasp, breathless. “I want to feel you… all of you.”

His hips thrust upward, meeting yours as he struggles to hold off any longer. With a final, guttural groan, his entire body tenses, and he cums deep inside you, holding you in place. You feel him pulse, his cock twitching as he rides out his orgasm, each throb shooting thick ropes of his cum inside you. His breath is fast, uneven, and his eyes are completely consumed by the sight of you, by the way your body moves with his.

He pulls you close, letting you collapse against him completely as a lazy smile spreads across his face. “Fuck, baby, what have you done to me?” he murmurs, “I think you’re gonna have to ride me every time we fuck from now on.”

a/n: written in < 3 days out of pure horniness and desperation oopsi I WAS LOCKED TF INNN no beta we die like men (when have I ever beta read my fics lmao). Also my first ever formal hwa fic! it should have been reverse Isekai months ago but I abandoned it lmao i should stop writing about hwa only and write for other members but it's hard because I like him so much. Anyway can you believe in order to avoid writing one fic I wrote three drabbles and TWO full fics? Insane. I can't wait for lemon drop. Morse code scene inspired from Taylor Swift but make it Morse code instead of signs and sorry if it's incorrect I used Google and whatever their first reccomended website it. I don't even know where the plot was going lmfao. I should really write for other members, wdyt of an ai san or ai yunho? Like they're human but not quite. Yeah I'll stfu now (might write a spin off with foodplay if anyone's interested...)

Idk what the plot is even but fuck it we ball

i.

Pop quiz time: what do you do when your cute next door neighbour comes to help his adorable little sister sell lemonades during summer break?

a.) offer some help

b.) become a loyal customer (support local businesses)

c.) fuck said cute neighbour (the brother, not the sister Jesus fucking Christ)

Correct answer: all of the above.

It all started when Sora, the next door little angel that sometimes come to visit because her parents left your parents to babysit her when they're busy (terrible idea, heh) decided that for summer, she's going to be making a lemonade stand.

Now you're familiar with Sora— She's an adorable nine year old with rose tinted glasses and probably the human personification of a damn coil the way she bounces every second. Sometimes she comes to visit when you're on break from school, and spending time with her is always fun.

The person you're not familiar with however, is her older brother— Seonghwa. From what you know, he's around your age but went to a university overseas so he isn't home much. You've exchanged a few polite nods with him, nothing much. One thing for sure though, he's damn fine. High cheekbones, high nose bridge, sultry eyes and plump lips. Ever since the Park family moved next door three years ago, you've been interested in him. Alas, your efforts to get to know said fine shit is cut short for obvious reasons (cough him moving overseas cough).

So being the damn angel you are, when walking your dog Sparkles (the damn poodle won't stop barking at nonexistent squirrels and you swear to God she's probably possessed) and spotting a small booth with a cardboard sign, the words “LEMONADE” scribbled with a black marker you decided to saunter over. Sora perks up upon seeing you and she immediately sits up straighter.

“seven dollars for one cup, Sora?” You comment upon seeing the price taped to a jug full of lemonade on the stand. “Recession” she hums “mummy said I won't make much if I sell it for five, but I'll sell it to you for five. Just don't tell anyone” she beams. “Do you want one?”

Before you could even respond, a voice came from behind Sora. You didn't even notice Seonghwa was hauling another jug of lemonade until he grunts. “Oh. Hi.” You greet him and he flashes you a smile “You're the next door girl right? Mom told me all about you and how kind you are to Sora. Thanks for taking care of her” he smiles, plump lips stretching to the side to reveal pearly white teeth. “No problem, Sora is an angel” you smile at Seonghwa as Sora pours you a cup and you lean in to sip it.

You flinched immediately— the damn thing tasted like battery acid. But nevertheless, you held it in and smiled at them both. You'll never say to Sora’s face how her lemonade is less preferable than toilet cleaner.

“Mm! Got a unique taste to it” you gave a commercially fake smile towards Sora who, bless her, believed it. She beamed. You don't exactly believe in lying to kids, but you don't want to be the one to break to her that her lemonade tasted like shit. Seonghwa however, gave you a pitiful smile as you handed Sora a crisp five dollar bill and left (because Sparkles was barking at nothing again and tugging on the leash). You pray that no one suffers food poisoning from this.

It rained that night— More than a rain, actually. It was a storm. Wind was howling like an abandoned lover, as rain poured mercilessly from the sky. You were unbothered, snuggling with Sparkles in bed as you binge watched another season of The Resident.

The aftermath of said thunderstorm however, was no joke. Apparently Sora forgot to put her lemonade stand in yesterday after poisoning five aunties who were talking their dogs on a walk and approximately four other kids with her battery acid, er— lemonade. It was early in the morning, cold dew kissing the air as you tugged gently on the leash to ensure Sparkles isn't doing weird any weird shit when you see what mark the storm left on Sora’s little cardboard box sign.

Glitter was running, soggy cardboard, and smudged letters. You stood there, mouth agape when the front door clicks open and Sora appears. A small gasp left her mouth as she saw what happened last night, her bottom lip quivered as she stormed back inside. Not long after, Seonghwa showed up. A plastic bag in his hand as he shook his head.

“I told her I'd help her haul the entire thing in yesterday. But she refuses, said she'd like to start selling first thing today.” He sighs while picking up the soggy cardboard and placing it inside the plastic bag, “she's really sensitive about the things she works hard on” he grunts as he hauls the bag on his back. “Been talking bout this all week long, refused any help, said that she will raise so much money for the animal shelter down the road.”

You didn't know what to say, so the both of you just stood there for a while. Not saying anything. You don't even remember what happened afterwards until you find yourself taking the leash off of Sparkles inside your house. The old dog just shakes off the feeling of the leash before scurrying towards his water bowl.

ii.

Hours later, you're on your bed. Absentmindedly thinking about Sora and her lemonade project. Your eyes trail to the window— Seonghwa’s room is right in front of yours. Most of the time it's empty, safe for the rare occasions there are guests staying over or he comes home. That's when you got an idea.

You grab a rolled-up sock from your bed and lob it toward the window across from yours.

It thuds against glass with a soft, pathetic thump. Seonghwa’s curtain twitches, then opens. He appears seconds later, shirtless (god bless), confused, blinking into the orange of the sunset like you summoned him from a nap. “Did you just throw something at my window?” You point. “Help me remake the lemonade stand.”

He stares. “You threw a sock at me for this?”

You shrug. “All my rocks are outside.”

There’s a pause. He tilts his head, amused. “Sora doesn’t want help. That’s kinda the problem. If she had let us help earlier, it wouldn’t have fallen apart like it did.”

“I know.” You pull your knees up to your chest, hugging them. “But maybe she needs to learn that asking for help isn’t a failure. That it's okay.” Seonghwa leans on the windowsill. “You really care about her, huh?”

“She’s nine. Of course I do.”

Another pause. He disappears. You think he left. But two minutes later, your doorbell rings. He’s holding a notebook, a pencil behind his ear, and a tape measure. “Okay,” he says, stepping in like it’s his house. “Cart or booth? Wood or cardboard? If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right.” You blink. “You’re just gonna barge in?” as he walks past. “You threw a sock at my head,” he deadpans, settling beside you on the floor. “We’re way past boundaries.”

You end up clearing your floor, dragging a rug aside so you can both sit cross-legged with a pencil and pad between you. Seonghwa sketches while you ramble. “Something with wheels, right? So Sora can push it. Not too heavy. Maybe with a little shelf for cookies.” He hums, focused, nodding slowly. “You think we can repurpose the bike wheels in our garage?” You blink. “You just have bike wheels lying around?” “We’re hoarders,” he says plainly, then glances at you. “But the good kind. Useful hoarders.”

By midnight, you’ve got a design. A narrow wooden cart with two big wheels in the back and a single rotating caster in the front. He says he’ll handle the frame if you take care of painting and decoration. “You’re the aesthetics department.” You point a finger at him. “And you’re the structural engineering team.” He grins. “Damn right.”

The next morning, you’re in his garage, hair tied up, covered in sawdust while he cuts planks of wood with a circular saw. You’re in charge of measuring and marking. Occasionally he looks up and murmurs things like, “Be careful,” or “You’re holding that wrong,” before gently adjusting your grip. Every time his fingers brush yours, your brain shorts out just a little. He doesn’t even notice. Or maybe he does and he’s pretending not to. You can’t tell.

He makes a dumb pun about plywood (??? Why) and you groan so hard your soul leaves your body. “Why am I helping you again?” you mutter, sanding down a wheel bracket. “Because you love Sora,” he says smoothly, reaching for the drill. “And maybe me, a little.” You freeze. He smirks. “Kidding.” You laugh too loud, awkward, trying to play it off while your face burns.

When the frame is finally done, you bring over paints and glitter from your room. You spread a tarp out on the grass and start painting together—light yellow with white trim, sun shapes and lemon doodles on the sides. You go overboard with the glitter. Seonghwa says nothing but quietly paints a lemon with sunglasses on the back panel and names it “CEO Sora.” You nearly die laughing.

At some point, music’s playing from your speaker, a playlist you forgot was queued. It’s soft indie stuff, background noise. Seonghwa’s arm is resting casually near yours. You’re both crouched low, drawing a tiny “Thank you for supporting” sign together. Your knees touch. You think you’re imagining it when he glances at you and says, “You’d make a great older sister.” You snort. “That sounds like a diss.” He shakes his head. “Nah. Just meant… you’re good with kids. Good with her.” You glance at him. He’s watching you again. His gaze is warm. Steady. You look away before your heart does something stupid.

Later, when you’re packing up the supplies, he brushes dust from your cheek. “You’ve got sawdust everywhere,” he says softly. You look up at him, your breath catching. But he pulls back like it’s nothing, like your heart didn’t just lurch. You shove a rag into his chest. “Clean yourself first, CEO Lemonade.” He laughs, low and unbothered, and it makes you want to scream into a pillow.

By evening, the cart is finished. Tomorrow, you’ll surprise Sora. Tonight, you sit on the grass with Seonghwa beside you, lemonade in one hand, cookie in the other, and try not to wonder what it’d be like if he stayed a little longer this time.

(And a selfish part of you wanted him to do so)

iii.

The next morning, you're up early, heart racing like you're about to deliver a TED talk to a room of toddlers. You and Seonghwa had rolled the finished cart into his backyard late last night, parking it beneath the cherry tree where the sunlight makes everything look a little magical. The yellow paint gleams. The glitter sparkles. “CEO Sora” beams from the back panel with his cool lemon shades. It’s stupidly cute (he's also stupidly cute today but you digress).

The hard part, though, isn't the cart. It's getting Sora out of her room. She's been quiet all morning. No bouncing, no knocking on your door, no asking for cookies or drawing requests. Just silence. Seonghwa glances up at her window and sighs. “She hasn't even touched her cereal.”

You nod slowly. “Let me try.”

You knock on her door and gently push it open. She's curled up on her bed, hugging her favorite stuffed raccoon. Her eyes flick toward you, then away again. “Hi, bunny,” you say softly, walking in and sitting at the edge of the bed. “We want to show you something.”

She shakes her head, face half-hidden behind the raccoon. “I don’t want to do lemonade anymore.”

“I know,” you whisper. “But… it’s not about lemonade anymore.”

A pause. Then a tiny, reluctant, “...what is it about then?”

“It’s about not giving up.”

That gets her attention—just a little. Enough for you to hold out your hand and wait. A long moment passes. Then, finally, Sora slides off the bed and takes your hand without a word.

You lead her outside.

The second the cart comes into view, she freezes. Eyes wide. Her hand tightens around yours. She gasps audibly, like you just unveiled a unicorn. “Wh—” she breathes. “Is that…”

Seonghwa steps out from beside the tree, wiping his hands on a rag. “Made it just for you,” he says. “Well, we did. She designed it. I just… didn’t cut off my fingers in the process.”

Sora walks forward slowly, like she’s afraid it’ll disappear. She runs her hand along the edge, traces the lemon doodles, the cookie shelf, the sign that reads “Sora’s Summer Sips 2.0.”

Then she turns to both of you, eyes shining but hesitant. “Why?”

Seonghwa kneels in front of her, soft smile on his face. “Because you worked hard, kiddo. And it sucks when things fall apart. But it’s okay to ask for help when they do. You don’t have to do everything by yourself, alright?”

She bites her lip. Looks at the cart. Then at you. Then back at Seonghwa. “But I messed up. I didn’t want anyone to help. That’s why it got ruined.”

“And now?” you ask gently.

She’s quiet for a second. Then nods.

“I want help,” she says. “Please help me.”

You smile.

Seonghwa messes up her hair with a grin. “Attagirl. CEO mode: reactivated.

And just like that, she beams. Like she’d never cried in the rain at all.

Time for second phase of the plan: Assuring that she distributes lemonade this time and NOT battery acid.

iv.

The next day, Phase Two begins: Operation Make Sure Sora Isn't Accidentally Selling Citrus Poison.

You're in Seonghwa’s kitchen, armed with lemons, mint, strawberries, a bottle of honey, and absolutely zero confidence in your chemistry skills. Sora is seated at the counter, feet swinging, ready to reclaim her throne. She insists on squeezing the lemons herself, proudly declaring, “I have strong arms now.”

Seonghwa’s on cookie duty, tying an apron around his waist like he was born to be somebody’s hot husband. You pretend not to notice. You absolutely fail.

You whip out a notepad. “So. Our baseline is—”

“Battery acid,” Seonghwa cuts in, tossing chocolate chips into a bowl. “We’re working our way up from battery acid.”

You roll your eyes. “We could’ve just let her keep poisoning the community.”

“But then we wouldn’t have this quality time,” he says easily, grinning. You freeze, but he’s already back to mixing dough like he didn’t just say something that made your stomach flip.

You test your first batch with strawberries and honey. Seonghwa sips it and raises a brow. “It’s giving... healthy cafeteria water.”

“Unbelievable,” you mutter. “I am trying.”

“No, no. I taste the effort. It's delicious... adjacent.”

You throw a dish towel at his face.

Sora giggles.

Two more attempts later, you land on something decent: lemon, mint, honey, and a splash of soda water. Seonghwa takes one sip and goes suspiciously quiet. You blink. “What now?”

He lowers the cup and looks at you. “That’s actually good.”

You frown. “Like, actually actually?”

He nods. “Like… I’d buy this. If you smiled at me while handing it to me, I’d buy two.”

You stare.

Then laugh.

Then go right back to scribbling ratios like he didn’t say something wildly flirtatious.

He watches you for a beat. “You’re cute when you ignore compliments, you know.” You glance up, confused. “Was that a compliment?”His smile falters for half a second—just a beat. “Yeah. But never mind.”

You look back down, cheeks warm. You’re terrified of reading into it. Because what if you’re wrong? What if this is just him being nice and you’re projecting because he’s hot and you’ve had a dumb attraction for years? Heck it's not even a crush— you're not close enough with him go call it a crush. You’ve had enough of letting your heart run wild.

So you pretend not to hear him. You hand him the next cup instead. “Tell me if this one tastes like hospital lemonade,” you say.

He takes it silently.

But later, as you’re baking brownies and he helps you clean the mixing bowl with two fingers and a grin, you hear him murmur, “God, you're dangerous.”

You pretend not to hear that, too.

Sora insists on helping with the cookies the second she smells the dough. One moment, Seonghwa’s carefully brushing flour off your cheek with the world’s softest touch—fingertips slow, deliberate, thumb lingering near your jaw like he’s about to say something he’s been holding in since forever—and the next, there’s a loud thud, a stool dragged across the tiles, and a very determined nine-year-old climbing up between you both like Moses parting the Red Sea (hello, junior cockblock).

“I’m head chef,” Sora declares, tying her tiny apron with the solemnity of a master baker. “You two are my assistants.”

You and Seonghwa exchange a look. His mouth twitches, amused. You can tell he was just about to do something—say something, maybe. The kind of thing that makes your breath catch and your brain glitch. But now he’s reaching for the chocolate chips obediently, shoulders slouched in mock submission.

“Yes, chef,” he says.

You stifle a grin and mimic him. “At your service, chef.”

Sora immediately starts throwing ingredients in like she’s summoning a storm. Flour, sugar, half a stick of butter—you lose track. She’s chaos incarnate, narrating her every move like a baking YouTuber while Seonghwa keeps trying (and failing) to get a word in. Every time he turns toward you—eyes soft, voice lower—Sora loudly interrupts.

“do we need baking powder?”

“Seonghwa, can I taste the dough?!”

“Wait! I wanna crack the egg—NOOO you DID IT WITHOUT ME—”

You’re both choking on laughter within minutes. Seonghwa gives up flirting entirely and just bumps your shoulder lightly every now and then when Sora isn’t looking. Once, you catch him just... staring. Not in a weird way. Just this quiet, fond expression while you wipe frosting off Sora’s nose. You glance at him and whisper, “What?” but he only shrugs, smirking.

“I’m thinking about filing for demotion,” he says. “Being a junior assistant. Less chaos.”

“Denied,” you reply. “You’re too tall to escape this mess.”

Later, Sora declares the cookies “scientifically perfect” and insists on making heart shapes with the leftover dough. You’re pressing one flat with your thumbs when Seonghwa leans down beside you, his arm brushing yours. “If I ever ask you out,” he murmurs under his breath, “are you going to pretend you didn’t hear that too?”

You freeze. For a moment, the world quiets. But Sora immediately launches into a rant about how heart-shaped cookies bake faster because “love is lighter,” and Seonghwa just sighs and goes back to rolling dough.

You never answer him.

And he doesn’t push.

But when you hand him a cookie later, heart-shaped, slightly burnt, made with chaos and too much sugar—he takes a bite, smiles softly, and says, “Tastes like a maybe.”

The clock ticks past 11:30 when you tape the last cookie bag shut. The kitchen smells like vanilla, butter, and sweet exhaustion. The table is a warzone of ribbon scraps and sticker sheets, but somehow, between the two of you—it’s organized chaos. Seonghwa leans over the counter, sleeves pushed up, a rogue smear of flour on his cheek that he still hasn’t noticed. Sora’s finally asleep upstairs, curled into a sugar-coma burrito with her raccoon plush. You’d both tried to send her to bed two hours ago. She’d only gone after confirming you’d save her a heart-shaped cookie with extra sprinkles.

You exhale and stretch your back, groaning quietly as the muscles protest. “I haven’t done this much arts and crafts since year eight science fair.” Seonghwa chuckles, dropping another finished bag into the box. “Let me guess. You made a volcano.”

“Please. I was an overachiever. I made a solar system diorama. With rotating planets.”

He raises an impressed brow. “Hot.”

You snort. “I’ll pretend that wasn’t sarcasm.”

“It wasn’t,” he says, quieter. “I think it’s cute you were like that.”

You glance at him, a little off-balance from how sincere that came out. He’s looking at you again. head tilted, eyes darker in the low kitchen light. The soft hum of the fridge fills the silence between you. You suddenly feel too aware of how quiet the house is. How late it is. How close he’s standing now.

He clears his throat, pulling back a bit. “It’s been nice… being home,” he murmurs, picking up the tape again but not really using it. “It’s weird, though. I feel like I never saw you much before.”

You raise a brow, fiddling with a twist tie. “You moved here three years ago and then immediately disappeared overseas. You’re like a part-time ghost.”

He laughs under his breath. “I guess I didn’t time it well.”

“You didn’t. I thought you were imaginary for the first six months.”

There’s a pause. You don’t look up, but you feel it. The shift in his body language. The way he’s facing you more directly now. His voice drops, softer, lower.

“Well, I see you now.”

You glance up, blinking. “Huh?”

His eyes hold yours. “I said, I see you now.”

The air stills.

You blink again, heart thudding. He’s still holding a cookie bag, but his hands aren’t moving. And then, slowly, casually—he steps closer. Just one step. But it’s enough. You’re between him and the counter now, your back to the table. He doesn’t touch you, not yet. Just leans in a little, gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips.

“You keep pretending you don’t notice,” he murmurs, voice brushing against your neck. “But you do.”

“Notice what?” you ask, too fast, too breathless.

He doesn’t answer.

Instead, his hand brushes your waist lightly, barely there. And then you feel it: his lips, warm and feather-light, pressing a kiss to the curve of your neck. Not rushed. Not clumsy. Slow. Intentional. Like he’s been wanting to do it for weeks and only just let himself now.

Your whole body goes still.

Your brain promptly blue-screens.

He pulls back only a little, breath still warm on your skin. “Tell me if I’m wrong,” he whispers.

You don’t say anything.

You can’t.

You are the color red, you are emergency alarms, you are all-caps-texting-your-best-friend-at-2am energy.

And then,a shuffle upstairs.

Tiny feet.

A sleepy voice down the hallway:

“Hwa… I want milk…”

Seonghwa blinks. You both freeze.

He steps back like someone hit a reset button. You whip around, yanking open the fridge like it personally betrayed you, pretending to grab the milk like your heart isn’t punching through your ribs.

From behind you, he chuckles softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guess we’re back to reality.”

You don’t look at him.

You’re too busy trying not to pass out.

v.

Moral dilemma time;

You lie in bed, staring at the ceiling like it personally offended you. The fan clicks overhead. The house is quiet again, and Sora’s probably curled up in her tangle of blankets dreaming about lemonade domination. And all you can think about is the way Seonghwa said, “You see me now.”

You did. You do.

You’ve always seen him—even if it was only in flashes. Hauling suitcases out of a car, sleeves rolled, hair damp with sweat. Helping Sora carry an inflatable pool across the lawn with that easy, capable energy that made your stomach flip even then. Sometimes he’d wave. Sometimes he didn’t notice you at all. And that was fine. You were just the girl next door. Babysitter. Friendly face (god. How annoying, his existence that is. Not in a bad way...)

Not… this.

And now you’re spiraling. Because sure, he kissed your neck, but what does that mean? And even if he meant something by it, can you let it mean something? You care about Sora. She's not just some neighbor's sibling, she's your kid on some days. You cut her crusts and helped her rehearse a talent show dance. What happens if this goes somewhere and then doesn’t? Would it be weird? Would she feel weird?

You groan, grabbing your pillow and smashing it over your face. Great. Fantastic. You’re a grown adult, and yet somehow this feels like the most confusing sleepover-level crush you’ve ever had.

You wanted him. You want him still. But now you’re wondering if you’re being selfish for it.

Because what if loving him ruins the thing that matters most?

Not the flirting.

Not the neck kiss.

But Sora’s little world.

And you're not sure you're willing to risk that.

vii.

The lemonade stand opens at 11.

By 11:17, you're almost sold out of brownies.

You hadn't expected the response to be this wild, sure, your little Instagram promo got a few shares, but apparently “CEO Sora’s Summer Sips” hit the local mom group circuit like wildfire. You’ve got toddlers in crocs, dads in visors, middle-aged ladies with lap dogs—everyone is here.

Sora's glowing. Literally glowing. She's got sunglasses on and a little apron with “Boss” embroidered across the front. Every time someone compliments the cart, she says, “My staff made it,” like you and Seonghwa are her unpaid interns. She's thriving.

You're... slightly dying. Not because of the heat. Not because of the stress. But because Seonghwa's been next to you all morning, helping hand out cups and pass cookies, acting like he didn’t kiss your neck twelve hours ago in the same house you’re both now selling snacks from.

He’s calm. Charming. Helping Sora count change, holding a paper cup in that way that makes his fingers look stupidly nice. You, on the other hand, have dropped the same bag of cookies three times and nearly called a customer “mom.”

And then, like a cursed prophecy, a woman in her mid-forties with a giant sunhat and an attitude rolls up. She glances at the menu and scoffs.

“This lemonade’s five dollars? That’s ridiculous. It’s just lemons and water.”

You open your mouth to respond, but Seonghwa gets there first. He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t roll his eyes. He just smiles politely, steps forward slightly, and says, “You're welcome to make your own at home. But this one’s made with care. And mint from our neighbor’s garden. And emotional labor. Lots of emotional labor.”

The Karen glares at him.

He smiles wider.

She mutters something under her breath and walks off with a dramatic huff. You watch her go, stunned, and then look at him.

“Did you just... politely obliterate her?”

He shrugs, handing the next kid a cookie. “She underestimated Sora’s empire. That’s on her.”

You stare at him. He glances at you. You immediately look away, pretending to care deeply about the placement of a napkin.

He’s too smooth. Too tall. Too... aware of what he’s doing.

And you’re spiraling again.

Because the kiss happened. And he hasn’t mentioned it. And neither have you.

And now he’s out here defending overpriced lemonade like a knight with a really nice jawline and a soft voice and the ability to kill a Karen with grace.

It’s fine. Everything is fine. You're not melting into a puddle of conflicted thirst and emotional repression.

“this was fun!” Sora chirps, tugging on your sleeve. “Can we do this again next weekend?”

You force a smile, ignoring the way Seonghwa glances at you out of the corner of his eye.

“Of course,” you say, smiling at her. “Anything for the little CEO.”

vii.

The last day of the stand ended with confetti cake cookies and a lemonade toast.

Sora had counted the earnings herself, nose scrunched in concentration, and walked proudly into the animal shelter with a stuffed envelope of cash in both hands. She’d handed it over like a diplomat making peace with a foreign nation. The workers cried. She beamed. And on the way home, she tugged on your hand and whispered, “Thanks. You helped me make people smile.” Then she gave you a tiny plastic cup of lemonade and hugged you so tightly her glitter stuck to your shirt.

You cried a little in the bathroom during break. You’ll never admit that out loud.

Now that you’re home. Your room’s dark, your legs are star-fished across the sheets, and Sparkles is snoring somewhere under the blanket at your feet like a gremlin. You’re lying there, staring at the ceiling, heart full in the weird way that only happens when something good ends. The kind of full that leaves a little ache.

The flour fight. The cookie assembly line. The stupid amount of glitter you’re still finding under your nails. Seonghwa laughing with cookie dough on his nose. You felt like a kid again. Like someone cracked open time and gave you a soft place to exist for a while.

You roll over with a sigh.

And then you see it.

A flicker.

From across the small patch of grass and fence seperating your house from the Parks.

Your curtains are drawn half open, and from Seonghwa’s window—faint, but consistent—you spot a light. On. Off. Off. On. Flash. Pause. Flash.

You blink. Sit up a little. It’s definitely his phone flashlight. But he’s not waving. You thought he was doing something, raving? At this hour? Alone?

He’s...doing it in patterns.

Your brain jolts. No way. You recognise this (thanks, girl scouts!)

You grab your laptop, fingers flying as you pull up a Morse code translator.

.. / -- .. ... ... / -.-- --- ..-

You type. Translate.

I miss you.

Your breath hitches.

You glance back. He’s standing there in the dimness, hoodie half-zipped, phone in hand, like this is normal.

You type back a message and flash your own phone flashlight from the edge of your curtain.

.-.. --- .-.. / -.-- --- ..- .----. .-. . / -. . . -.. -.--

Lol you’re needy.

Pause.

Flash.

Flash flash. Long flash.

You translate.

- .... . -. / .. / ... .... --- ..- .-.. -.. / .... .- ...- . / ... .- .. -.. / ... --- -- . - .... .. -. --. .-.-.- / ..-. ..- -.-. -.- / -- .

Then I should have said something. Fuck me.

You choke on your spit.

Your flashlight wavers in your hand.

You stare at your screen, rechecking the translation three times. He doesn’t move. Just tilts his head slightly—waiting.

You swallow, before responding slowly.

.... --- .-- / -.. --- / .. / -.- -. --- .-- / -.-- --- ..- / .- .-. . -. .----. - / .--- ..- ... - / .... --- .-. -. -.--

How do I know you aren’t just horny?

Long pause.

Then the longest message yet.

-... . -.-. .- ..- ... . / .. / .... .- ...- . / .-.. .. - . .-. .- .-.. .-.. -.-- / .-.. --- ... - / -- -.-- / -- .. -. -.. / . ...- . .-. -.-- / - .. -- . / -.-- --- ..- / ... -- .. .-.. . -.. / --- .-. / .-.. .- ..- --. .... . -.. / --- .-. / ...- --- .. -.-. . -.. / -- -.-- / .--- --- -.- . ... / .- -.-. .-. --- ... ... / - .... . / ..-. . -. -.-. . .-.-.-

Because I have literally lost my mind every time you smiled or laughed or voiced my jokes across the fence.

Your hands are trembling slightly. The phone feels hot in your grip.

You bite your lip and flash one word back.

.... --- .-.. -..

Hold.

You slip out of bed barefoot, heart thundering, nerves on fire.

And across the fence, Seonghwa’s light finally goes dark. And yet you refuse to let this fire die like the other times. You crouch by your window again, the phone cold in your hand this time.

You could leave it. Let it die in the quiet. Pretend the moment passed.

But the ache’s too real. The way he looked at you in the kitchen. The neck kiss. His stupid calm voice when he shut that Karen down. His hands, his laugh, the way he always made room for Sora in every conversation—even when his eyes never quite left you.

So you tap out a message. Slow. Hesitant.

.. / .-- .- -. - . -.. / - --- / -... . / ... . .-.. ..-. .. ... .... .-.-.- / .. / .-- .- -. - . -.. / - --- / .- ... -.- / ..-. --- .-. / - .... .. -. --. ... / - .... .- - / .-- . .-. . -. .-..-. - / -- .. -. . / - --- / .- ... -.- / ..-. --- .-. .-.-.- / -... ..- - / ... --- .-. .- .-.-.- / .. / .-- --- .-. .-. .. . -.. / .- -... --- ..- - / .... . .-. .-.-.-

I wanted to be selfish. I wanted to ask for things that weren’t mine to ask for. But Sora. I worried about her.

It takes a few minutes. You almost think he fell asleep. And then his light flashes again.

Long pause.

Then:

- .... .-. . . / -.-- . .- .-. ... / .- --. --- / ... .... . / - .- .-.. -.- . -.. / .- -... --- ..- - / -.-- --- ..- .-.-.- / - .... . / --. .. .-. .-.. / .-- .... --- / .-- .- ... / ... --- / -.- .. -. -.. / .. - / .... ..- .-. - / - --- / .- ... -.- / .... . .-.. .-.. --- .-.-.- / .- -. -.. / -.-- . ... / .. / .-.. --- ...- . / ... --- .-. .- --..-- / -... ..- - / .. / .-.. --- ...- . -.. / -.-- --- ..- / ..-. .. .-. ... - .-.-.-

Three years ago she talked about you. The girl who was so kind it hurt to ask hello. And yes I love Sora, but I loved you first.

You cover your mouth with your hand, heart tripping all over itself.

He continues before you can respond:

- .... . .-. . / .-- . .-. . / ... --- / -- .- -. -.-- / ..-. ..- -.-. -.- .. -. --. / - .. -- . ... / .. / .-- .- -. - . -.. / - --- / --. . - / ..-. ..- -.-. -.- .. -. --. / ... . .-. .. --- ..- ... .-.-.- / -... ..- - / .. - .-..-. ... / -.-- --- ..- .-.-.- / .. - .-..-. ... / .- .-.. .-- .- -.-- ... / -... . . -. / -.-- --- ..- .-.-.- / .- -. -.. / .. / .-- .- -. - / - --- / -.- .. ... ... / -.-- --- ..- / ... . -. ... . .-.. . ... ... --..-- / .-.. .. -.- . / .-.. --- ... . / .- .-.. .-.. / .-. .. --. .... - .-.-.-

There were so many fucking times I wanted to get fucking serious. But it’s you. It’s always been you. And I want to kiss you senseless, like lose all right.

You stare. The words blur. You’re clutching the phone too tight.

Another pause. Then a last line:

- . .-.. .-.. / -- . / -.-- --- ..- / -.. --- -. .-..-. - / .-. ..- -. / .- .-- .- -.-- / ..-. .-. --- -- / -- . --..-- / -... . -.-. .- ..- ... . / .. / .-.. --- ...- . / .... . .-. / ..-. .. .-. ... - .-.-.-

Tell me you don’t run away from me, because I love her first.

You stare at your phone for a long moment after sending your last message.

Fingers trembling, eyes fixed on the darkened window across from yours. The Morse code's gone quiet. No more flickers. No more signals. Just that open-ended silence, like he dropped a truth and disappeared into it.

You swallow, heart pounding in your ears.

Then you type one more line. Phone flashlight filling the dark like lightning during storm. Just a message. Just a whisper across the quiet street.

“Come over.”

No reply.

Seconds stretch long, sticky with anticipation. You shift on your bed, Sparkles still softly snoring at the foot, totally unaware of your mental breakdown. You start to think you’ve misread everything. Maybe he didn’t mean it. Maybe you just—

click.

You hear it.

Across the street, his balcony door slides open.

You scramble up, already pushing your window up with both hands. The night air rushes in, warm and thick. You lean on the ledge, eyes wide as he steps into view—barefoot, in a hoodie, hair messy like he’s been pacing. No phone. Just him.

He looks up.

You nod once.

And that’s all it takes.

He doesn’t say a word as he scales the ledges between the two houses. You've always thought it was stupid how wide your bedroom window was, but right now? Right now it's made for this. For him. For the second he plants his foot on the inside and climbs in, gaze locked to yours, face unreadable but burning.

The second he’s inside, your heart stutters.

You open your mouth to say something—but you don’t get the chance.

His hands are already cupping your face. His mouth crashes into yours with months of restraint finally snapping, kissing you like he’s starved for it—like he waited too long and he’s done waiting. You gasp, and his fingers tangle into your hair, pulling, angling, devouring. He kisses you like he’s memorizing the shape of your mouth, your jaw, the sound you make when he bites just a little.

It’s fast. Then it’s slow. Then it’s desperate.

You stumble back onto the bed, dragging him with you, and he follows like it’s instinct. His hoodie’s already on the floor, your hands already slipping under his shirt. He mouths at your throat again—same spot he kissed last night—only this time there's no interruption. No Sora. No milk.

Just his breath against your skin.

His voice, low and wrecked.

“I wanted this so fucking bad.”

You arch against him. “Then take it.”

And he does. His hand slides down your waist like it’s been there a hundred times before—possessive, certain—until it curves around your ass and grips. Firm. Deep. He groans against your neck when you jolt in surprise, letting out the softest little sound, somewhere between a gasp and a choked moan.

Then

Smack.

The contact stings just enough to make you arch into him with a breathy, startled, “Hwa—!”

He grins against your skin, wicked and low, as his teeth nip your neck, not gentle, but not cruel either. Just enough to make your skin bloom with heat. “Wanted to do that for a while,” he murmurs, voice dark with hunger, lips dragging slow against the curve of your throat. “Every time you walked away from me. Every time you bent over to grab something and didn’t even notice.”

Your breath catches. “That’s because I wasn’t trying to—”

“I know,” he cuts in, biting again. “That’s what made it worse.”

His hand squeezes again, fingers digging into the flesh like he’s laying claim. You squirm—eyes fluttering, lips parted, and he just hums against you like your reaction feeds him. Like the sound you made is something he’s going to tease you about later, when your body isn’t pressed so tightly against his, begging for more.

“You always make that face when I touch you here?” he whispers, another sharp smack punctuating the question.

You can’t even answer.

Not when his mouth is back on you like he plans to ruin your name from the inside out.

viii.

You’re already breathless when his hand finds the hem of your sleep shorts, fingers toying with the waistband like he’s asking permission—but also like he already knows the answer. He’s still in that stupidly hot basketball tee, sweat sticking to the neckline, his grey sweatpants riding low on his hips. Everything about him is unfair. Everything about this is reckless.

“Wait,” you whisper as he starts to tug down, only because—

“Rrrrgh.”

Both of you freeze.

You whip your head toward the foot of the bed where Sparkles, your tiny mop of a poodle, is slowly rising from his blanket nest with a low, suspicious growl—hackles raised like Seonghwa is an intruder and not, you know, the man actively making out with his owner.

Seonghwa blinks. “...I forgot he was there.”

Sparkles bares tiny teeth.

You groan, slipping off the bed to scoop him up. “Not now, Sparkles. Go patrol the hallway or harass my siblings or something. Please.”

You pad barefoot to the door, open it quietly, and place Sparkles in the hallway like he’s being exiled from the kingdom. “Go. Go be judgemental somewhere else.”

He snorts—but trots away, dignity intact.

You close the door, click the lock.

And immediately yelp when hands grab your hips from behind and yank you back against him.

“Where were we?” Seonghwa murmurs against your ear, already dragging your shorts, and your underwear—with them down your thighs in one smooth pull. He kisses the back of your neck again, teeth grazing that same spot that made you melt before, and his voice drops into something that makes your knees wobble. “Oh, right. Here.”

You can barely think.

His hands slide over your skin like he’s trying to memorize it—thumbs grazing the soft dip of your hips before he spreads you open from behind, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring the view. He groans, low and wrecked, like he’s seeing something he’s dreamed about and it’s somehow better in real life.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “You’re so sweet. Like—messy jam. Sticky. Dripping. I want to ruin my hands on you.”

You whimper.

And then you feel his fingers brush between your legs.

Firm. Teasing.

Sliding through like he’s checking how ready you are, and humming when he finds his answer.

You press your forehead to the bed, trembling.

And Seonghwa?

He just chuckles darkly behind you, settling between your thighs like he’s planning to stay awhile.

Gone was the sweet older brother to Sora.

Gone were the terrible jokes and the crooked, dimpled smile that used to make you laugh from across the lemonade stand.

This man—this version of Seonghwa—was unrecognizable.

He was on his knees behind you now, his breath ghosting hot across the back of your thighs, hands gripping your hips like he owned them. His eyes were fixed between your legs with a look that sent shivers up your spine. Not playful. Not teasing. Just hungry. Reverent. Like he’d found something sacred and filthy and his.

“Fuck,” he murmured, voice thick and low, thumb spreading you open just a little more. “You really let me in here like this, huh?”

You could barely respond. Your cheek was pressed to the bed, knees parted, hands gripping the sheets like they’d keep you grounded.

He didn’t wait long.

Two fingers slipped inside—smooth, slow, curling just right—and your breath hitched, hips jerking at the sudden stretch.

He groaned behind you.

“God, you’re tight,” he breathed, moving his hand just enough to hear the sound your body made around him, slick and obscene. “You feel like—fuck, like you were made for me.”

You moaned, biting your lip hard enough to hurt, the burn and stretch already drowning you in heat.

He curled his fingers again, this time deliberately, dragging them along a spot that made your spine arch and your legs tremble.

“Ohhh, there she is,” he whispered, lips brushing your lower back. “Thought I lost you for a second.”

His other hand slid up your back, grounding, calming—almost tender—as he leaned over you, voice in your ear.

“Can I keep going?” he asked softly, like a man already past the point of return. “Can I make you forget your name a little?”

And God help you—

You nodded.

His pace shifts without warning—gentle fingers turning rougher, deeper, faster.

You gasp, the sound ripped from your throat as his long, slender fingers drive into you with intent. Every movement is precise but merciless, like he knows exactly what he's doing. Like all that skill—the way he mixed dough, tightened bolts on Sora’s cart, handled everything with quiet perfection—was meant for this. For you.

His free hand presses into your lower back, keeping you arched as he thrusts his fingers harder, knuckles slick as they drag against that spot that makes your legs shake and your voice crack.

“Fuck, Hwa—!” you whimper, barely able to hold yourself up.

He groans behind you, forehead resting between your shoulder blades for a moment as he watches how you fall apart around him.

“You like this?” he mutters, voice ragged. “Of course you do. Look at how fucking wet you are—dripping down my hand like you’ve been waiting for this all summer.”

You sob his name, back arching helplessly when he curls his fingers hard, sharp, relentless. The slick sound of him working you over fills the room—so messy, so obscene, and so impossibly hot.

He leans close again, mouth brushing your ear.

“These fingers built Sora’s damn cart,” he growls, dragging them deeper, faster. “And now they’re gonna make you fall apart.”

And you do.

You writhe, body trembling, thighs shaking as he fucks you on his hand like he’s trying to imprint himself into your skin. You’re dizzy, ruined, whimpering with every thrust—and still he doesn’t slow down.

Only when your walls flutter tight around him—pulsing, soaking his fingers—does he finally ease up.

Just enough to whisper, “That’s it, baby. That’s what I wanted.”

And he still hasn’t even used his mouth yet.

You’re still trembling, breath shallow, body limp across the bed like he wrung every thought out of you with his hand alone. You barely notice when he pulls his fingers out—until you hear it.

A soft, wet sound. Followed by a low hum.

You turn your head just enough to look over your shoulder.

He’s sucking his fingers.

Slowly.

Like he’s savoring every drop of you on his tongue.

He groans low in his throat, almost to himself, eyes fluttering shut like it’s that good. “Mmm,” he murmurs, licking the last of you off with a lazy swipe of his tongue. “Sweeter than the lemonade. Sweeter than the cookies. Think I’m addicted.”

Your stomach flips. Heat floods right back between your legs even though you haven’t recovered from round one.

And then he does it.

He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his sweatpants and drags them down slowly, letting them fall past his thighs. No boxers. Just thick, flushed length springing free—hard, leaking, aching for you.

You sit up on shaky elbows, staring.

You barely think—your body moves first. You slide off the bed and sink to your knees in front of him, wide-eyed and reverent.

He freezes.

“What are you—”

You glance up, and his breath catches.

You look like sin. Knees on the floor, lips parted, face still flushed and glowing from what he just did to you.

“oh?” he chokes out, completely unraveling. “You’re seriously gonna—? Like that?”

You nod once. Innocent.

And wrap your hand around him.

He nearly buckles.

Never in a million years did you think this would happen.

Not in this room. Not like this.

Not with the boy next door—sweet, polite Seonghwa—climbing in through your window at midnight and now standing in front of you, flushed and panting while you’re on your knees, mouth full of him.

But here you are.

And he tastes like heat and salt and something heady, your tongue swirling as you take him deeper, inch by inch, letting him feel just how much you want this. Your eyes flick up to meet his—and the look on his face nearly undoes you. His hand clutches your bedsheet behind him, jaw clenched like he’s trying not to make a sound.

He’s heavy on your tongue, thick and pulsing, twitching when you suck around him with slw, filthy intent.

“Shit—” he hisses through his teeth, voice low and tight. “Fuck, baby, you can’t just—”

You hollow your cheeks and he groans, head tipping back as his other hand finds your hair, threading through it but not pushing—just holding. Grounding himself.

His thighs twitch.

He’s trying so hard to be quiet. To be good. But every time your lips slide back down, every time you take him a little deeper and hum around him like you’re savoring a lollipop, he chokes on a curse and sways forward slightly.

“Y-You’re gonna kill me,” he whispers, hips bucking the tiniest bit.

And you?

You’re already smiling around him.

Because if he thinks this is the end, he hasn’t seen anything yet.

Your hand strokes the base of him slowly, lazily, while your other cups him beneath—gentle, teasing, deliberate. You feel the way his thighs tense, how his breath hitches above you. Every pass of your tongue, every swirl around the head has him trembling, his abs flexing under his tee, sweat starting to bead at his temples.

You’re relentless.

He looks down at you, jaw slack, eyes dark and dazed, eyebrows drawing together like he’s trying to hold something in—like it’s too much. Every time your lips slide over the tip again, he lets out this soft, strangled moan that sounds like it’s been punched out of him.

“F-fuck,” he breathes, voice cracking. “Baby, I—I’m close—”

You hum around him, slow and smug, and that alone nearly makes his knees give out. You feel him throb against your tongue, feel his hips twitch forward—and that’s when his hand suddenly cups your cheek.

Gentle. Steady. Warm.

“Wait,” he whispers, breath shaking. “Stop—wait, wait.”

You pull off him slowly, lips glossy, confused for a second until you look up. His eyes are half-lidded, dark with want, but soft, full of restraint.

“I wanna be inside you,” he says, almost like an apology. “Not just your mouth. You.”

He leans down, brushing your hair behind your ear as he kisses your forehead with trembling restraint.

“Let me feel you,” he murmurs, barely holding back. “I need to.”

ix.

Seonghwa fucks good.

Seonghwa fucks hard.

Note to self: never, ever assume that the soft-spoken, painfully pretty boy next door is a bottom just because he smiles politely and wears pastels. Because right now?

You are getting plowed.

Your face is buried into your sheets, knuckles white as they clutch your pillow, and Seonghwa is behind you—hips snapping forward with a force that knocks the breath out of you every time. His grip on your waist is bruising, holding you steady as he pounds into you like he’s trying to reshape the memory of him in your mind—like the sweet older brother to Sora was just a decoy and this is who he really is.

The sound of skin slapping echoes soft but filthy through the room, the creak of the bed barely covered by the ragged breath between you.

“F-fuck,” he hisses, voice wrecked, leaning over to press a hand between your shoulder blades, pushing you deeper into the mattress as his pace snaps. “This what you wanted, baby? This what you’ve been thinking about?”

You can’t even answer. Your mouth opens but all that comes out is a moan strangled into your pillow.

His hand slides down your spine, slow, deliberate, only to wrap around your throat gently from behind—not choking, just grounding. Claiming. His hips never falter, driving into you again and again, the stretch still dizzying, the pressure building fast.

“You feel so fucking good,” he pants into your ear. “So tight for me—like this pussy knew I’d be here.”

You whine—helpless, ruined—and he just groans deeper, lips brushing your shoulder, his sweat dripping to your skin. You feel him twitch inside you, feel the heat coil tighter and tighter in your core.

Both of you are trying not to moan too loud.

Both of you are failing.

And neither of you care.

His thrusts grow desperate—sloppier, rougher—his pace no longer steady but driven by instinct, the kind of need that makes him groan low in his throat with every grind of his hips.

“Baby,” he pants, voice breaking as his grip tightens on your waist. “You close? Tell me.”

Your moan is half-buried in the sheets, your head nodding furiously as your body trembles beneath him. “Y-Yes—yes, Hwa, I’m close—”

“Fuck,” he breathes, and his rhythm snaps again—faster, deeper, each thrust hitting that spot that has you seeing white. “That’s it. Come with me, baby. Wanna feel you—wanna feel you squeeze me.”

You cry out when the coil inside you snaps, body clenching around him, thighs shaking uncontrollably. And that’s all it takes.

He groans—deep, guttural, wrecked—as he pushes in to the hilt and stays there, trembling hard. You feel him throb inside you before it hits—hot and thick, his release pulsing deep as he fills you, warmth spreading with every twitch of his hips.

His hands don’t stop holding you. He leans forward, chest pressed to your back, lips dragging across your shoulder as his voice drops into a shaking whisper.

“Fuuuck—fuck, baby, you feel so good. So warm, so full—shit—made for me.”

You both go still, panting into the silence, your legs trembling as you feel him soften inside you, the mess between your thighs sticky and slick and his.

His breath is still ragged when he presses a kiss to your spine and mumbles, “I’m never letting you babysit for free again.”

You don’t remember falling asleep—just the soft shift of his weight, the warmth of his body pressing close, and his arms wrapping around you from behind.

No teasing. No filth. Just his breath against the back of your neck, his fingers gently stroking your hip as he pulled you into him like you were something fragile he needed to keep safe.

His whisper was the last thing you remember before sleep claimed you.

"Get some rest, baby. I’ve got you."

And now—

You wake up to sunlight pooling across the floor.

No arms. No Seonghwa.

Just your sheets a mess and your body sore in all the best and worst ways. You blink slowly, eyes adjusting to the soft glow as you stretch—and immediately regret it.

Every muscle aches. Every one.

Your thighs, your back, your voice, your soul.

You roll over, half hoping he’s still there.

But the other side of the bed is empty.

Your heart sinks a little. Was it a dream?

You sit up slowly, dragging the covers over your chest as your mind spirals in a sleepy haze.

And then—

Scratch. Scratch.

You blink toward the door.

More scratching. More intentional judgment in every claw scrape.

You sigh, shuffle out of bed, and open the door.

Sparkles stands there. Tail curled. Eyes narrowed. Like he knows.

You stare at him.

He stares back.

You sigh again. “Don’t look at me like that. You left the room. This is your fault.”

He snorts and trots in like you’re the disappointment.

You watch him hop onto the foot of your bed, spin in a circle, and settle with the dramatic weight of a dog who knows everything and will be discussing it at length with his therapist.

You collapse beside him.

And try very hard not to smile at the ache between your legs.

It wasn’t a dream.

You flop back onto your bed with a dramatic sigh, Sparkles curled beside you like a silent witness to your crimes. The ache in your thighs is real, and your dignity? Somewhere on the floor next to last night’s sleep shorts. You close your eyes, still half-lost in the memory of Seonghwa’s mouth, his hands, his everything—

Ding dong.

You groan. Now what?

Your phone buzzes. It’s your mom.

[Mom]: Sweetie, there’s a guest for you at the door.

[Mom]: He’s very polite. Cute. Smells like laundry detergent.

You sit up slowly, confused, hobble to the window and peek outside.

And there he is.

Seonghwa.

On your front porch.

Wearing a clean button-up and jeans, hair still damp from a shower, hands tucked into his pockets like a boy about to ask someone to prom. He glances up and sees you at the window—smiles, shy and soft like nothing unholy happened last night.

You open the door, blinking at him in the morning sun.

“Hey,” he says. “Thought I’d, uh, come by and see if you wanted to walk Sparkles with me. You know. Since we’ve been... busy.”

You stare.

Then deadpan, “Ironic, you asking me to walk when you ruined my legs.”

He turns crimson.

But he beams.

“I’ll carry you,” he says without missing a beat.

You snort. Sparkles trots between you both, judging still, but cooperative.

And as the three of you set off down the street, shoulder to shoulder, you realize it’s oddly perfect. Like the universe handed you a paper cup and said: here, try something sweet for once.

Because love?

Sometimes it is lemonade.

And sometimes it’s Lemon-aide.

Sticky, messy, made from sour things and sugar and effort.

You’re his aide. He’s yours.

And somehow, through lemons, you both made something stupidly good.

Your phone buzzes just as you’re settling into bed.

Incoming Call : San 🏔

You smile immediately, warmth blooming in your chest. You put him on speaker and head to the bathroom, voice soft and sleepy.

“Hi” you murmur.

There’s a pause on the other end. A breath.

Then:

“…Hey.” His voice is low. Rough. Just a little hoarse.

You frown softly. “You okay?”

“Mhm.” A sharp inhale, followed by a quiet exhale. “I just… wanted to hear your voice.”

That makes you smile again, soft and unsuspecting. 

You rinse your mouth, crawl back into bed, and tuck the phone against your cheek.

You laugh softly, cheek pressing to the pillow. “You miss me that bad already?”

“So bad,” he murmurs, almost too quiet.

“I missed you too.” You roll onto your side, voice warm. “How was your night?”

Another pause.

“…Fine.”

There’s something in the way he says it. 

It’s not unhappy, just… distracted. 

Like he’s somewhere else entirely. 

You squint, sensing it now — the air between you feels thick. 

Like something is happening, and you haven’t caught up yet.

Your brows knit at how breathless he sounds. “Are you… working out or something?”

“…Sort of.”

“Sort of?” You giggle. “You sound weird,” you tease, voice gentle.

There’s a pause. Long enough to notice.

Then you hear it — the tiniest sound.

A slick sound.

Wet. Rhythmic. Subtle.

Your mouth parts slightly. “San?”

“Keep talking,” he says quickly. Breathlessly. “Don’t stop talking.”

Your heart skips.

Your voice falters. “Wait… are you —”

“I miss you,” he cuts in, voice heavy, strained, and definitely aroused. “I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

“You’re—oh my god, are you touching yourself?”

He groans — low and unfiltered. Like your voice alone is enough to drag him under.

“Yes,” he whispers. “Fuck, I couldn’t wait anymore.”

You blink at the ceiling, suddenly burning everywhere. “You called me… to jerk off?”

“I called you because of you,” he murmurs. 

“Because I kept thinking about your mouth. Your voice. The way you sound when I—” His breath stutters. “When I’m buried deep inside you.”

Your breath catches.

“Tell me something,” he whispers.

“What?” you breathe.

“Remind me how you taste.”

Your thighs press together instinctively.

“San—”

“I’d be on my knees for you right now,” he murmurs. “You don’t even know. Tongue deep in you, hands keeping you open. I miss the way you shake.”

You press a hand to your chest. Your heart’s racing.

“Your voice, baby. I swear.” His breath catches. “You’re so soft when you’re sleepy. It drives me insane.”

You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

“.. Are you close?” you ask, voice barely a whisper.

“Mhm,” he moans. “Keep talking, please. I’m—shit—I’m right there.”

You bite your lip. Then slowly, softly:

“You’d ruin me if you were here, wouldn’t you?”

He lets out a desperate noise.

“I’d take you so slow,” you whisper. “Just to hear you beg.”

He groans again, sharp and broken. His breathing gets faster.

You hear the subtle, unmistakable sound of his release — his moan is raw, whispered, like he’s trying not to be loud. Like he’s completely wrecked.

You lie there, blinking, flushed all over, heat rolling through you.

There’s a silence on the other end. Just the sound of his breathing, finally slowing.

“…I’m coming over,” he mutters eventually, voice low and raspy.

You laugh softly, heart still racing. “San…”

He groans. “I need you.”

And something tells you this night isn’t over yet.

–

You’re still in bed when your doorbell rings.

Your whole body stills.

You climb out of the covers, heart thudding in your chest, and tiptoe barefoot to the door. 

When you open it, the hallway light spills over San — his dark hoodie pulled over his head, eyes shadowed, lips parted. 

His chest rises and falls like he ran here, not drove.

He doesn’t say a word. He just looks at you.

Then?

He steps in, shuts the door behind him, and grabs you.

You gasp as your back hits the wall.

 His mouth crashes against yours, hot and desperate, like he needs to taste you just to breathe.

“You,” he growls between kisses. “You make me lose my mind.”

His hands roam everywhere — under your shirt, across your hips, gripping your ass like it’s his. You’re lifted onto the wall in one smooth motion, legs wrapping around him on instinct.

“San—” you try to catch your breath, but he kisses you again, rough and deep, before pulling back just enough to speak.

“You sounded so fucking sweet on the phone,” he murmurs, dragging his nose along your jaw. 

“That little sleepy voice. All shy. You knew what you were doing.”

“I didn’t,” you whisper, flushed and breathless.

He bites down gently on your neck. “Liar.”

You squirm in his grip, heat pooling between your legs. 

His hands slide up your thighs and you realize — you’re still not wearing underwear.

He realizes it too.

“Of course you’re not,” he mutters, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“I didn’t know you were actually coming over—”

“You think I care?” His voice is gravel now, thick with need. “You think I can sit at home after hearing you like that on the phone?”

One of his hands slides between your legs, fingers dragging through your slick folds. 

You cry out, head falling back against the wall.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Already soaked.”

You nod, breathless. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

That’s it. That breaks him.

He carries you towards your bedroom, mouth on your throat the entire way, and you cling to him like your life depends on it.

When he lays you down, it’s with more reverence than you expect — like even in his desperation, he still wants to worship.

He brushes his nose over your clothed nipple and groans low in his throat, like he’s trying to memorize you.

“Look at you,” he whispers. “So fucking perfect.”

You reach for him, and he comes willingly, laying his body over yours, slotting between your legs. 

You can feel how hard he is — straining through his sweatpants — and your hips twitch up, chasing friction. 

He kisses you again, slower this time, deeper. Like he wants to feel how badly he missed you.

Then he pulls back just slightly. His forehead rests on yours. His breathing's still ragged.

“You want me?” he murmurs.

You nod.

“No. Say it.”

“I want you,” you whisper. “I want you so bad it hurts.”

He groans, like the words physically affect him, and his hand trails between your thighs again.

“I’m not gonna be gentle this time,” he mutters. “I can’t be.”

You whimper. “Then don’t be.”

And then he sinks two fingers into you — slow but firm, curling just right — and your whole body arches off the bed.

He watches your face, eyes dark. “This is what you wanted, right? To drive me crazy? To have me aching for you?”

You nod again, mouth open, gasping.

He leans in close, lips brushing your ear.

“Well, baby,” he murmurs, voice like velvet and smoke, “you got me.”

“Take this off,” San growls, tugging at your sleep shirt, not even waiting for you to comply. 

He peels it up and over your head like he owns it — like you’re his — and throws it somewhere behind him without looking.

You’re bare now. Completely.

And he just stares.

Chest heaving, jaw clenched, like he’s trying to hold himself back — but he can’t. Not anymore.

“You drive me so fucking insane,” he mutters, running both hands down your ribs, to your hips, spreading your legs wide with his knee. “You know that?”

You whimper when his fingers return to your center, teasing just barely. Your back arches. His eyes drop to watch every reaction.

“Already soaked for me again,” he whispers. “And I’ve barely even touched you.”

You reach down, grabbing at the waistband of his sweats. 

“Please,” you gasp.

“Please what?”

“San—”

“Tell me,” he snaps, voice low and commanding. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want you in me,” you cry, breath shaking. “Please, San. I need you.”

He exhales hard through his nose — then strips. 

His hoodie and shirt go first, then his sweats and boxers in one tug, revealing his hard, leaking cock, already red at the tip. 

Your mouth waters.

He strokes himself once, twice, eyes still locked on you.

“Turn around.”

You blink. “..Huh?”

“I said turn the fuck around.”

The edge in his voice sends shivers down your spine. 

You scramble onto your hands and knees, and he grabs your hips immediately, pulling you back toward him until your ass is pressed to his cock.

He drags the head through your folds, just once — and groans like it physically hurts to hold back.

Then he thrusts in.

Hard.

You cry out, head dropping to the mattress as he bottoms out in one deep, punishing stroke. 

His hand grips your hip, the other tangling in your hair, pulling your head back so he can lean down and growl into your ear.

“This is what you wanted, huh?” His hips slam forward again. “Wanted me so desperate I couldn’t wait another second?”

You moan, hands fisting the sheets. “Yes—”

“Wanted me to ruin you?”

He sets a pace that’s relentless — deep and unrelenting, every thrust dragging across the most sensitive part of you. 

Your body jerks forward with each one, and you swear he’s somehow deeper than ever before.

“San—fuck, yes—” His grip crushes you tighter. “Say my fucking name.”

You sob it again and again, lost in the rhythm, and he keeps pushing. 

Keeps driving into you like he’s chasing something buried inside your core.

Your legs start to shake. You're so close.

“Not yet,” he growls, he growls, yanking you upright so your back presses hard against his chest “I said—not yet.”

He keeps fucking into you while his hand slides between your legs, rubbing your clit in fast, devastating circles.

“Hold it,” he growls. “Hold it until I say.”

You’re gasping now, practically sobbing from how full you feel — how stretched and raw and desperate you are.

“I—I can’t—”

“Yes you can.” He licks the shell of your ear. “You’ll come when I tell you to. Be good for me.”

And somehow… you obey.

He fucks you through it — deeper, harder, his hand still working you mercilessly — and just when you feel like you can’t take it anymore, he growls:

“Now. Let go. Fucking come for me.”

Your orgasm hits like a wave breaking, loud and wet and devastating. Your entire body arches, thighs trembling violently as you convulse around him.

You don’t even hear yourself scream his name — too lost in the pleasure — but he does.

And it snaps something in him.

He pulls out and flips you over, not even giving you time to recover before he thrusts back in — face-to-face now, eyes burning.

“I’m not done,” he whispers

You can barely breathe, so overstimulated, so full. But you take it — you want it — because the way he’s looking at you? Like he needs to own every piece of you?

It’s worth everything.

He chases his own release now, hips slamming into yours at a punishing pace, his mouth all over your throat, jaw, chest.

“I love this fucking pussy,” he grunts. “You’re made for me. You know that?”

You nod, crying out again as he fucks into your oversensitive cunt. “Yes—yes, I’m yours, I’m—”

“That’s right.”

He buries himself deep one last time — so deep you swear he’s in your soul — and groans your name as he spills inside you, his body trembling against yours.

For a long moment, he doesn’t move. 

Just breathes. Heavy, ragged, still inside you. One hand on your jaw. The other clutching your waist.

Then?

He kisses you. Deep, slow, reverent.

And when he finally pulls back, eyes soft, he strokes your cheek gently.

“You okay?” he whispers.

You nod, dazed. “I think you rearranged my spine.”

He laughs softly, presses a kiss to your forehead, and pulls out slowly, careful with your sore body. 

Then he disappears into the bathroom — and comes back with a warm towel.

He wipes between your legs so gently it makes you tear up a little.

Then he crawls back into your bed with a whispered, “C’mere, baby.”

And you fall asleep wrapped in him — ruined, wrecked, and held like something precious.

—

That morning you wake to the smell of butter and maple.

The early morning light is filtering in soft and slow, and the sheets are tangled at your waist, your body sore in all the best ways. 

Your thighs ache. Your neck has faint bite marks. You feel like you were worshipped… and maybe a little destroyed.

You blink sleepily.

And then you hear it — a gentle clatter from the kitchen. Something sizzling. Then a muttered curse.

You smile. San.

When he appears in the doorway — shirtless, sweats low on his hips, hair pushed back from his face — he’s holding a tray. 

Plates stacked, two mugs, something golden and syrupy filling the air behind him.

He’s grinning like he knows he’s being hot about it.

“I made you breakfast,” he says, voice raspy with sleep, setting the tray on your lap. “Don’t freak out.”

You blink at it. Pancakes. Eggs. Fruit. Even whipped cream??

Your brows knit. “…San.”

He’s climbing into bed beside you, already grabbing a strawberry off your plate and popping it into his mouth like he didn’t just cook a five-star brunch.

You narrow your eyes. “How do you even know where my whipped cream is? You’ve literally been here like .. twice.”

He smirks around the bite. “What, you think I don’t pay attention?”

You stare him down.

He leans closer, hands slipping under the blanket over your lap. “I paid attention to a lot last night.”

You swat at him. “San! I’m eating!”

“You’re trying to eat,” he murmurs, kissing your shoulder. “But I made the mistake of seeing you like this — hair all messy, no bra, all cute and sore — and now I’m distracted.”

You flush, tugging the blanket up to hide the fact that you are, in fact, still completely naked beneath it.

He feeds you a piece of pancake — literally feeds you — and you groan at the taste.

“This is so good.”

He hums. “Yeah?”

You nod through your bite. “You’re annoyingly good at this. I was prepared to lie to protect your pride.”

San chuckles and presses a kiss to your cheek. “I’ll take that as a win.”

You’re halfway through eating when his hand starts creeping again — under the blanket this time, fingertips grazing the top of your thigh like it’s casual.

You shoot him a look. “Don’t.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“You are literally touching my thigh right now.”

“I’m admiring it.”

“San.”

“Mhm?”

You squint at him. “You’re obsessed with me.”

“I literally am,” he says, no hesitation, dipping down to kiss your bare shoulder again. “Is it that obvious?”

“Yes,” you say. “And it’s so distracting.”

He bites back a smile and leans in close, lips brushing your ear.

“You wanna know what’s distracting?” he whispers, hand slowly sliding higher. “The fact that I spent all night in you — and I’m still hard just thinking about it.”

Your stomach flips.

You grab your fork again with shaky fingers and murmur, “Eat your pancakes.”

But you already know this breakfast-in-bed is about to become a part two of last night — once again… you won’t be finishing your meal.

—

After the breakfast-that-you-did-not-finish (because San decided you were the real meal), he finally lets you rest — for like, ten minutes.

You’re still under the covers, half-limp with sleep and soreness when you feel him climbing out of bed again. You hear the water start in the bathroom.

Then he comes back to the doorway, shirtless, damp towel in one hand.

“Come shower,” he says gently.

You crack one eye open. “You go. I’m dead.”

He smirks. “If you’re dead, then you won’t mind if I carry you.”

You narrow your eyes. “You wouldn’t.”

And then he does. Pulls the blanket off of you and lifts you like it’s nothing, making you yelp as you cling to him.

“SAN!!”

“You left me no choice,” he teases, voice smug in your ear as he carries you into the steam-filled bathroom.

The water’s already perfect — warm, a little hot — and when he steps in with you, he moves so carefully, hands steady at your waist.

You let the water hit your back, sighing at the heat, and close your eyes for just a second — until you feel his fingers in your hair.

Your eyes blink open. “…What are you doing?”

“Washing your hair.”

You eye him skeptically. “Are you washing my hair or do you just want to touch me again?”

San blinks, expression a little too innocent. “Can’t it be both?”

You groan, laughing despite yourself. “I knew it.”

He smiles as he lathers shampoo in his hands and starts working it into your scalp with surprisingly gentle, practiced fingers. 

The way he massages your head, runs his fingers through every strand, careful not to tug — it feels so soothing you actually sway into his chest.

“Mhm… I take it back,” you murmur. “You can do this forever.”

“I plan to,” he says softly, voice near your temple. His hands slow a little, sliding down, rinsing out the shampoo as you lean back.

He keeps going — conditioner, a few more forehead kisses, and now his thumbs are brushing under your eyes, wiping away the faint smudges of leftover makeup.

He does it like it matters. Like he’s memorizing you.

“Why are you looking at me like that,” you ask softly, heart hiccuping.

“Because I’m lucky as hell,” he says without even blinking.

And just like that, you’re melting all over again — but not because of the hot water.

You wrap your arms around his neck, pull him in slow, press your lips to his under the falling spray. 

It's slow, slow — the kind of kiss you sink into with your whole body.

He hums against your mouth.

The kiss deepens, steam curling around you both, and you feel him grip your hips like he might forget what he was doing.

You pull back just enough to whisper, teasingly: “You're getting distracted again.”

San smirks. “You literally taste like vanilla and warm water. How am I supposed to focus?”

You laugh into his shoulder. “Finish rinsing me, San.”

And he does.

But the way his hands keep slipping a little lower? You’re pretty sure you’re not leaving this shower untouched.

—

The shower ends with your back pressed lazily to his chest, both of you reluctant to step out into the cooler air.

You’re the one who finally reaches for the knob, sighing. “We should get out before we start round 2 just from steam.”

San grins behind you, shameless. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

You swat his thigh without looking.

He helps you out first, careful with his hands as always — but the moment your feet hit the mat, he’s already reaching for a towel.

“Sit,” he murmurs, patting the bathroom counter like he owns the place.

You arch a brow. “I can dry myself off.”

“Please?,” he says with a glint in his eyes, already kneeling a little to start at your legs.

You give in — because you're sore, and he’s impossibly warm like this. 

Gentle and full of affection. His hands work slowly, drying every inch like he’s mapping you all over again.

He glances up at you, curls damp and stuck to his forehead. “Still mad I carried you in here?”

You give him a small smirk. “No. But only because your massage game is elite.”

“Elite, huh?” He drags the towel up your thigh, fingers lingering too long before he slides it higher. “Do I get a trophy?”

“You’re already trying to earn one,” you mutter.

His only response is to kiss the inside of your knee.

You twitch slightly. “San…”

“Just drying,” he says — entirely unconvincing, because his hand stays exactly where it doesn’t need to be.

“You’re ridiculous,” you murmur, blushing.

But still — you don’t stop him.

He stands slowly, now using the edge of the towel to press soft, careful dabs to your chest, your arms, your neck. 

He trails it up to your face, and your breath hitches at how gentle he gets — like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

His thumbs brush beneath your eyes again, drying what little water clings to your lashes. 

Then he leans in and kisses your temple. Then your cheek. Then the corner of your mouth.

You're smiling now. You can’t help it. “I thought you were drying me off.”

“I am,” he murmurs against your skin. “But you’re very… distracting.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re the one making this impossible.”

He hums and wraps the towel around your body fully now, pressing it snug at your back like he’s hugging you and drying you at the same time.

You lean into him. “You really can’t keep your hands off me, can you?”

He pulls back just enough to look at you — eyes soft, adoring, almost like you’re something rare and glowing. His voice is quiet but honest: “Nope. And I don’t plan to learn how.”

Your chest squeezes, heat curling all the way down your spine.

He presses a kiss to your nose now. Then your lips. Then murmurs: “C’mon. Let me get you into something cozy.”

You smile, letting him lead you — wrapped in his towel, in his arms, in his attention.

And the truth is: You don’t want him to stop touching you, either.

—

That evening, your living room is dim, the only light flickering from the soft glow of your TV — low volume playing some show neither of you are watching.

You’re straddled on San’s lap, facing him, your thighs resting on either side of his hips, one of his old hoodies swallowing you whole. 

The fabric smells like him — faint cologne, detergent, that warm scent you know better than your own by now. 

He’s shirtless beneath you, just lounging in some gray sweats, all tanned skin and quiet muscle, his arms looped loosely around your waist.

Your fingers are tangled in his hair, gently twirling one around your finger as you talk — about nothing, really. 

Something dumb. Something comforting. You don’t even remember how the topic started.

And you’re not really paying attention to your words anyway — not when he looks like this.

His bare face is unfairly beautiful. His jaw is sharp and clean from shaving.

The light catches the slope of his nose, the tiny beauty mark just beside his left eye, the sleepy droop of his lashes as he listens to you — and God, his lips. Full, soft, kiss-bitten from earlier.

You feel like you could cry just from looking at him.

You run your thumb gently across his cheek. He closes his eyes briefly under your touch.

And then — too soon, too cruel — he shifts slightly beneath you and murmurs, 

“I have to leave soon.”

Your smile fades. “What? Why?”

He exhales slowly, rubbing his hand down your back like he’s trying to soften the blow. 

“I have work in the morning. Early.”

Your heart drops a little.

You blink at him, lips parting. “But… can’t you stay tonight?”

“I want to. I really do.” His voice is soft. Regretful. But firm.

You feel your chest tightening already, throat beginning to ache with the heat of unshed frustration.

“I barely get to see you anymore,” you whisper.

“I know.” He brushes his knuckles against your thigh. “I hate it too.”

Your arms slowly wind around his neck, pulling yourself into him, burying your face into the crook between his shoulder and jaw. 

You don’t say anything at first — just hold him there like if you’re quiet enough, he’ll change his mind.

He strokes your back gently.

“I’m not leaving yet,” he says, voice quieter now. “I’ve got a little time.”

You cling tighter. “Can you sleep over again? Just for tonight?”

A pause. It lasts too long.

“I can’t,” he says, and this time it sounds like it hurts him more than you. “If I don’t go home, I’ll be late.”

You nod, but you’re not ready to let go. Your arms stay locked around his neck. You hate how warm he is. How safe. How rare.

“I’m gonna miss you,” you murmur brokenly.

His hand slips under the hoodie, spreading wide across your back. He cradles you there, holds you tighter. 

“Aw, baby…” he whispers, leaning his head into yours. “I’m gonna make time for us. I promise. This isn't always going to be like this.”

You sniff, but you don’t cry. Not yet.

“Don’t promise if you can’t keep it.”

His voice cracks. “I will. Even if it means losing sleep. I’ll be here. I want to be here.”

There’s a long silence between you two. 

Just the sound of his breathing against your neck and the quiet, creaking shift of the couch when he leans back again.

Then you whisper something, voice soft and a little bitter:

“…And stop calling me when you’re jerking off, okay? It makes me want you even more.”

That surprises a low chuckle out of him — hoarse and heartbroken.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, a soft, rueful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“But I love calling you,” he admits. “It’s the only way I feel close to you when I can’t be here.”

You sigh, cupping his jaw, thumb brushing over the faint stubble.

“You don’t need to call me to feel close to me, San. You are close to me. Always.”

He nods once, eyes shimmering just slightly.

Then you both fall into a long, warm silence. He holds you. 

You stay in his lap, hoodie swallowing your bare legs, his fingers tracing soft circles on your thigh like he doesn’t want to let go.

You know he’ll leave soon.

But not yet.

So you press your lips to his cheek. Then his nose. Then his mouth.

You whisper, “I’ll wait for you.”

And he says, “You don’t have to wait long.”

But still — the ache stays.

Because even when love is strong… it still hurts to say goodbye.

—

It's been days since that night with San, and you were sure he was doing everything in his power to make your life a living hell. You were here for one more day before it was time to drive back to the city. Arin had done her very best to make this a relaxing and fun trip for you. Swimming at the lake, picnics at the edge of the forest, bird watching, and cookouts by the fire. You genuinely had a great time, as long as San was somewhere else.

You couldn’t handle it when he was in the same room as you, and he could see it all over your body. He was always watching you, smiling at you. You were bewildered that Arin hadn’t noticed her dad’s strange behavior, and at the same time, plenty grateful. You had no idea how you would explain the situation between you two. But it seemed like San didn’t care if she knew, because he was ultimately less than subtle.

The other day, you were all having dinner in the dining room, some amazing southern cooking San had whipped up. You were sitting at the end of the table, Arin sat to your left, and San sat to your right.

“Oh my god, Dad, if I didn’t miss you, I surely did miss your cooking,” Arin exclaimed around a mouthful of food. San raised an eyebrow and tossed a napkin at her.

“Didn’t I teach you manners, Arin?” he glowered, ripping a piece of bread in half to slather it in butter.

“No, Mom did, and you always told me in that grump voice you have,” Arin furrowed her brow and twisted her face into a disgusted expression to mock her father. “Don’t listen to your mother, she doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

San laughed, loud, smacking a hand on the table, causing the whole thing to shake. “That's because she didn’t know what she was talkin’ about! She insisted on silverware havin’ designated spots on the damn table. And don’t even get me started, ‘Elbows off the table, San.” Woman, if these ribs are gonna get eaten, I’m gonna have to use my elbows to dig in there.”

Arin looked over at you, “See, and he tried to take credit for teaching me manners, he didn’t teach me shit.”

“I taught you how to change a tire and not to take no shit from boys. And look at you now, my girl's got herself covered, don’t you?” Arin rolled her eyes and smiled softly.

“Yeah, yeah, I guess.” The fondness in her voice was impossible to mask. You could tell they truly did care for each other in a gut-wrenching way. It was so sweet to see them interact, like best friends almost. The way San looked at her so fondly, and Arin at him in turn. You felt a smile creeping on your face as you watched them continue to bicker and reminisce at the table. 

“So how’s the food, peaches? Good, right?” You blinked and turned to look at San, whose gaze was now focused on you.

You smiled, tearing off a piece of your bread to nibble on it. “It's pretty damn good, I didn’t realize how much I was missing out.” Arin grinned and smacked your shoulder.

“See, what’d I tell you? I always told her back at campus how she would love the food you make, and look at her now.” Arin stuffed her mouth full of collard greens. She started to go on about her childhood, her favorite snacks, and whatnot, when you felt a warm, calloused hand brush over your upper thigh underneath the dining room table.

Your body tensed as you remained calm, keeping your eyes on Arin as she spoke, a strained smile on your face. You turned to quickly glance at San, and he was the picture of ease. Soft smile, nodding along as his daughter spoke, as he gently caressed your thigh like you all weren't having dinner together.

His hand slipped up underneath your shirt, massaging your lower stomach. Warmth bloomed in your belly as his hand rubbed your abdomen before falling from under your shirt and back on your thigh.

“Are you good?” Arin asked. You must have dropped your smile because Arin looked at you, confused.

You shook your head and smiled, “Yeah! Sorry, I’m fine. I think I’m just getting full.” San’s hand squeezed your thigh one last time before slipping away. You let out a small breath, grateful that he had at least realized that maybe right now wasn’t the best time.

“Oh, alright, anyway. If you’re done eating, you can go ahead and shower if you want. Tomorrow morning, Dad and I are gonna go run the hounds if you wanna come with us?”

Arin had explained to you not too long ago that her dad had hunting dogs, and when they didn't want to do a fleshed-out hunt, they’d simply just let the hounds turn loose in the woods to see if they could sniff out any deer. It sounded nice because you could just hang back and enjoy a quiet walk in the woods while Arin and San took care of the dogs; it's not like you knew anything about that kind of thing.

“Yeah, sure, sounds fun. I’m gonna go take a shower then, goodnight. Thank you for dinner, Mr. Choi.” You pushed your chair back and stood up, gathering your plate and setting it in the sink. San watched as you walked, eyes lingering on the curves of your body and the slope of your neck, admiring you and the way you moved.

“Of course, sweetheart, any time.” His stupid, honey-dripped voice, that made your belly do flips and your head fog.

“Alright, night, see you in bed,” Arin responded, taking a sip from her can of beer.

“Night, Peaches, see you in the mornin’.” San’s voice rang in your head as you turned to walk down the hallway up to your room. You paused for only a second before replying curtly.

“Goodnight, Mr. Choi.” You walked away, the wooden floorboards creaking underneath your soft footsteps.

“She’s a hard one to crack, ain’t she?” San said to Arin, once you were out of earshot. Arin shrugged.

“She’s always been a bit shy, I guess. Always keeps to herself, never really goes out of her way when it comes to new people. I try to get her to come out with me to parties and stuff, but she always insists on staying in the dorm. I kinda feel bad for her, I’m pretty sure she hasn’t even had a boyfriend yet, I mean she’s never brought one up to me before…”

Oh? The gears in San’s brain were turning. “Sounds like she’s a homebody, huh?”

“A little.. But I don’t mean it in like a bad way! She's a wonderful girl, always been so sweet and so supportive, I could never ask for a better friend. I just wish she’d branch out a little more. For her sake, y’know?” Arin took another sip of her beer before narrowing her eyes at San.

“You better not scare her off, Dad, she’s the best I got. Do NOT make her go fishing for crawfish while she’s down here. She’ll start hating us both when she repeatedly gets pinched.”

San laughed and took his daughter’s hands in his, gently rubbing his thumbs over Arin’s knuckles.

“I’m not gonna scare her off, honey, okay? I know how much she means to you. It warms my heart to see that you have somebody that you can rely on so much when you’re not home with me. I’m glad she’s taking care of you. Consider that my stamp of approval.” San hadn’t said it to you yet, but he was quite fond of you. His daughter was right, you were soft and sweet, helpful and loving. He was so glad you had swooped up his little girl and helped her through her way in the city.

Arin pulled her dad into a warm hug. “Ugh, I hate when you’re sappy.” San kissed the crown of her head, rubbing her back gently.

“You love it.” He chuckled before pulling back and standing up to gather the plates. “You helpin’ me clean up or what?”

Arin gaped and crossed her arms. “Was that just a ploy to butter me up so I help you with chores?”

San smirked, shrugging his shoulders. “I guess we’ll never know,” he turned to the sink.

“Oh, another thing, (Name) asked me why you call her Peaches the other day. I apparently forgot to tell her that you give people nicknames like that. But I was wondering, why specifically peaches?” Arin gathered up the leftovers and started to store them away, and San ran some warm, soapy water in the sink, grinning to himself at the thought of you, a blushing mess over a silly little nickname he had for you.

“Nothing in particular, it just comes naturally, you know how nicknames are.” This seemed good enough for Arin, so she dropped the subject, opting to tell San some more stories from college, your name being mentioned more times than he could count.

He loved hearing about you, your name, your hobbies, what you liked, and what you didn’t like. Your silly habits and your pet peeves. His daughter seemed to know you like the back of her hand. So he cleaned and listened to Arin drone on, asking questions here and there, intent and learning everything and anything he could about you.

After a well-rested night, Arin shook you awake in the early morning, urging you to wake up.

“C’mon, sleepyhead, we gotta be out of here by 4.” You groggily forced your eyes open and glared at her like she had 3 heads.

“4..? AM?” you groaned.

Arin nodded, “We gotta be outta here before the sunrises, silly. It's just how Dad likes to do it.” You groaned and ripped the comforter off your body, planting your feet on the ground to get ready.

The air was comfortably chill, and the sun wasn’t quite out yet. A few lamp poles littered around the property provided little light to illuminate the land, but beyond the tree line, it was nothing but pitch black darkness.

San was standing outside by the fire pit, 4 decent-sized foxhounds leaped and bounded around his feet, sniffing the ground and panting excitedly. He waved both of you over, smiling brightly.

“C’mon, ladies, look alive. The coyotes will eat you alive if they smell that exhaustion on you.” You perked up at that, the tiredness seeming to drain from your body as you were now on high alert.

Arin groaned and glared at her dad. “Dad, stop that. You’re gonna scare her. (Name) He's just being mean, pay him no mind.”

San laughed at turns and began walking to the edge of the yard, whistling loudly to encourage the dogs to follow him. “Hey, it woke her up, though. I was doing her a favor.”

You narrowed your eyes at the back of San’s neck. You turned to whisper to Arin. “I’ll kill him if he scares me like that again.”

“Be my guest,” she drawled, and you both laughed.

“I hope you girls aren't making fun of me again. It's not very nice to tease your elders.” San stopped at the edge of the dark wood, 

“It's not very nice to scare my friend's Dad.” Arin shot back, picking up a small rock and tossing it at San’s back. At the edge of the woods, a small box sat on the ground right before a dirt path that led further into the trees.

He leaned down and creaked it open, grabbing 3 flashlights. “Here you are, the sun’ll rise soon enough, but until then you’ll wanna use these.” He handed you both a flashlight.

“We’re not actually lookin’ for any deer today, I just wanna turn the dogs loose for a little so they can stretch their legs. It's also nice to just go on walks in the woods before it gets too hot.” The crisp morning air did feel rather nice, and the birds sang softly within the treeline.

You clicked your flashlights on. “Now, be sure to follow me,” San stated, his tone all serious. “Stay on the trail, and try not to step on any snakes.” You swallowed.

“Dad,” Arin deadpanned.

“What? I’m being serious, Arin. You know there are snakes around here.” San’s face had no hint of amusement on it, arms crossed as he looked you both over.

Arin winced and turned to look at you. “I mean, he’s not wrong there, but I promise it's nothing to worry about.”

Your face twisted into a mocking look, sarcasm dripping from your words. “Oh, I’m sure.”

When you began the journey into the woods, you couldn’t deny that you were tensed up and a little paranoid. The forest was by no means quiet; bugs sang, and the birds screeched, the loud sound of underbrush crunching beneath your feet as you all walked down the path echoed off tree trunks. Occasionally, San whistled when the dogs ran off too far, to which they quickly returned to his side before he turned them loose again.

Your eyes were glued to San’s back as Arin talked your ear off, walking beside you, with San chiming in with his own thoughts here and there. Once the sun started to rise and peek through the canopy of leaves, your worries eased slightly, and the more you could see as you walked.

Eventually, you all abandoned the flashlights and listened to the birds sing softly, admiring the way the sunrise bled through the tree line and decorated the green forest floor in stunning murals of yellow.

You were relaxed now, breathing in the fresh air and embracing the sound of nature and the wildlife, the gentle breeze rustling the leaves, making it almost sound like you were walking along the beach.

By this time, everyone had fallen silent, too busy basking in the relaxing sound of the forest as they walked. No sounds of rushing cars, no loud horns, and angry pedestrians. No loud college students partying in nearby dorms.

Just pure, tranquil peace.

You had been walking for about an hour when San craned his head back, smiling when his gaze fell on you both, faces calm and content, relaxed within the green of the forest.

“Doin' alright back there, girls?” San’s soft voice cut through the silence, checking on you both.

“Better than alright,” you responded without really thinking. “It's so pretty out here.” San smiled to himself, happy that you were enjoying yourself so much.

“Well, this trail loops around, so soon we’ll be making our way back to the house. Arin, wanna help me round up the dogs?”

Arin nodded, walking faster to stride past her dad. 

“Here!” she called into the woods, venturing off the trail in search of the dogs, whistling the further she walked.

“Won’t she get lost?” You asked, worried, walking faster to fall in step next to San.

“Nah, she knows these woods almost as well as I do. She’ll be alright.” He smiled reassuringly. He looked down at you, his gaze locking with yours. The sun casts beautiful patterns on your skin, the gentle breeze tousles your hair, frizzing it up slightly. Your plush lips formed into a soft pout as you tried to read San’s eyes, trying to pinpoint what he was thinking. Your eyes were glassy, lashes fluttering every time you blinked. Like a doe. You looked so calm, so pretty.

San cleared his throat, turning to look forward and continue walking, whistling a couple more times and calling for the dogs once again. Arin was nowhere to be seen, and it was just you and San.

“So, peaches, tell me.” You ripped your gaze away when you realized you had been staring at his neck, admiring how strong it looked, and the vein that ran up the side like a river.

“Are you avoiding me?” He knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it from you. You sighed, fiddling with your fingers behind your back, keeping your eyes glued to the forest floor as you walked.

“Mr. Choi, I’m sure you know the answer,” you replied softly, your voice small.

San’s jaw ticked, and he huffed out of his nose like a frustrated bull.

“Well, sweetheart, why don’t you tell me why, huh? Ya scared of me or something?” San continued walking, keeping his eyes glued to the trail ahead, refusing to look at you.

You were suddenly too aware of your racing heartbeat, and the embarrassment of how your voice shook, only slightly, and the stupid way you felt your stomach clench in what could only be anticipation.

“I told you already, I’m not afraid of you. You’re just… my best friend’s… dad….” You trailed off like you were piecing something together that you already knew. Like your moral compass was readjusting to the right direction.

“And?” San asked simply, like it wasn’t an incredulous thought. Your eyes widened at his nonchalance. He spoke fleetingly of what you both did, like it was nothing but another passing day, another silly encounter, like it couldn’t rip families apart. “What does it matter to you?”

Your eye twitched slightly, a bit annoyed by the carelessness of his words.

“Do I really have to spell it out?” You grumbled, kicking a rock and watching it fly down the path and off into the plush green forest floor.

“I’m listenin’, honey.” He replied simply, a smile in his voice as he teased, clearly enjoying ticking you off. “Love hearin’ you talk, y’know.” Your heart leaped, and you wanted to kick yourself for feeling this way.

“What would Arin do if she found out? She’d hate us both.” You were doing everything in your power to be the driving voice of reason here, but San wasn’t having it. 

“You liked it, though,” San replied, missing the point entirely. “What’s wrong with a little indulgence?”

 You huffed, frustration seeping into your bones and tensing your muscles. You were getting a headache. It doesn’t matter that it was… phenomenal in all honesty. You wouldn’t tell him that, though; it’d only help his case.

You needed to put a foot down.

Continuing to walk, keeping your eyes forward and your tone somewhat harsh, picking up another rock and throwing it down the path. “I hope you know what happened… Between us… It can’t happen again. It wasn’t right, Mr-”

Quick, before you could even utter one more word, San had whipped his body around, snatching you up. Large hands enveloped either side of your waist and lifted your back against the closest tree. You gasped, breath knocked from your lungs as he pressed his firm body against yours, holding you against the rough bark. Your legs instinctively wrapped around him, and his lips crashed into yours just as you were able to catch your breath, stealing the oxygen from your lungs in a deep, cannibalistic kiss.

He groaned against your lips, slowly grinding his hips between your spread legs, his hands sliding to hook underneath your thighs and haul you further up the tree, devouring your mouth like an animal.

“God fucking dammit (Name), when are you gonna drop the honorifics, huh?” He growled against your lips, nipping at the soft skin, hands wandering up and down your meaty thighs. He was pressed impossibly close to your body, like he was trying to melt into you.

“I’ve been inside you, baby. Do you need a reminder?” he groaned against your lips, feeling as your hands cupped the back of his neck to hold yourself upright against the tree, the rough bark digging into the thin skin of your shoulder blades. “How the other night I had you under me, writhing and moaning my name like a needy slut, huh? I’d be more than happy to jog your memory.”

Your back arched against the tree as he dipped his head to press wet kisses against your collarbone and all over your chest, where your tank top exposed your smooth skin. “S-San…!” you mewled, gasping when he rolled his hips at just the right angle, the fabric of his jeans just barely catching your clothed clit.

“Yeah, there we go,” relishing in how melodic his name sounded when you said it with your pretty voice. “Atta girl.” 

He trailed kisses up your neck, along your jaw until he was back on your mouth, swallowing your soft noises up with hungry, open-mouthed kisses, wet, sloppy, lustful. 

“Who gives a fuck if it's wrong. That's why it felt so good. Why it feels so fucking good.” He moaned into your mouth, and your head felt dizzy. The forest melted away, and all you could hear was San’s heavy breaths and needy groans. All you could feel was his soft lips and his warm body pressed against yours. His huge hands squeezing your thighs and claiming you as his.

He pulled away from your kiss swollen lips, eyes hazy and half lidded as he gazed at you, his thumbs caressing your trembling thighs as he kept you against the tree.

“So beautiful…” he muttered, biting his bottom lip and swiping his tongue against it like he was trying to catch the taste of you lingering on his lips.

San was in deep, deeper than he’d like to admit. Since that night, he couldn’t keep his eyes off you, and every time you were in the room, he had to physically restrain himself from touching you. He loved the musical ring of your cute laugh and your tender eyes when you smiled at his jokes, the way you argued with him through giggles and playful fights whenever he gave you a hard time. You were everything his ex-wife wasn’t. Fun, easy-going, full of life. 

He was still a bit at war with himself when it came to your dynamic. You were right. This was wrong. This couldn’t be something that happened. But that couldn’t stop that feeling in his chest that made him want to give you the world.

He assumed that after all this time, hearing these stories about you from his beloved daughter painted this perfect picture of you in his head, and finally meeting you only rectified that image. He wanted to take you out on the water, he wanted to wake up next to you on a weekend, well late into the morning, make you coffee, and live a calm domestic life with you. Take care of yourself like you deserve.

That also meant he wanted to lie you down every night and mold his shape into your pliant body, and show you that these boys who slept around your college campus like it was a competition were nothing compared to what he could give you. It broke his heart when you avoided him, but when he finally did get some time with you, it was always worth it to hear you laugh and see your smile.

He gently set you down, only to keep one hand on your left thigh, hiking your leg up, spreading you open as he kept you pressed against the tree trunk.

“Wait, San!” you gasped, but his other hand ghosted down the front of your body until his fingers dipped past the waistband of your shorts, past the soft barrier of your underwear. His thick fingers softly pressed against your clit, dragging down the slip between your pussy lips.

“Fucking soaked,” he groaned, like it hurt. He swallowed your lips in another kiss as he gathered your slick on his thick fingers, teasing your entrance. Parting his lips against yours and gasping at the same time as you, he slipped his fingers into you, grinning into an open-mouthed kiss at the way your brows knit in pleasure, and your head fell back against the tree, as you felt his fingers curl inside of you, the pressure mind-numbingly delicious.

“All that talk about wanting to be good, wanting to do the right thing, and here you are, soaking my fingers, moaning like a bad girl.” He pulled away from your lips to lean into your ear.

“Can’t fool me, peaches,” he whispered, kissing below your ear.  “I know how much you love this.” Your back arched at his soft voice, his fingers massaging your G-spot so roughly that your eyes were watering and your legs were shaking.

“Please, fuck, San-!”

“Please what, baby?” He mocked your whining, only pressing his fingers deeper into you, smiling when your breath caught in your throat and your fingers gripped the hair at the nape of his neck to ground yourself.

“I bet you wanna cum don’t you, is that it?” You gnawed your bottom lip, nodding frantically as your eyes rolled into the back of your head.

“God, you give in so easily, it's adorable.” You were so close, your cunt clenched around his fingers, and you breathed heavily against his neck.

“San… m close..” you whimpered. San kissed up the side of your neck, slipping his thumb up to rub tight circles on your aching clit.

“Yeah, already?” he whispered, absolutely enamoured with your beautiful, breathy moans and the softness of your skin. “Fuck you’re incredible.”

Footsteps. The familiar sound of leaves crunching under shoes hit your ears, and your body went rigid.

“San!” you whispered, and he had heard it too. Quickly, he slipped his fingers out of you and pushed his body off of you, putting ample distance between you two. Quickly, you tried to fix your hair and make yourself look like you weren't getting the shit fingered out of you in broad daylight.

Arin emerged from the forest, walking onto the path, all 4 dogs in tow behind her.

“Hey ya’ll. Sorry that it took so long. Ranger here wanted to wander off farther than he should have,” she gestured to the smaller hound in the back, who was too busy licking his paw to pay her any mind. “No coyotes got you?”

San laughed and shook his head. “All good here.” Arin looked at you, waiting for your response.

“Nope!” you said a little too excitedly. “Didn’t see any.”

Arin smiled,  oblivious to the tension in the air.  She turned to start walking the trail again. “See told you Dad was just being an ass. Alright, let's hightail it outta here, I’m hungry.” The dogs followed behind her as she walked, and San followed suit. It took you a second to unglue your feet from the ground, but you started to follow.

“Dad, are you making us breakfast or what?” 

San chuckled, turning his body so he was walking backwards, now facing you as you trudged behind them. “Of course, I can't leave my girls hungry.” Without breaking eye contact, San slipped the fingers he fucked you with into his mouth, sucking your wetness off of them, lidded eyes staring into your soul until they were clean. He stuck out his tongue and slid his fingers down the length of it, making a show as he licked them clean before turning back around to walk forward on the trail again.

“Got fucking tree sap on my fingers.” He grumbled, leaving you to think about what he just did, thoughts clouded, and his heart racing 1000 miles a minute.

“Maybe if you didn’t wander off the trail, you wouldn’t get so dirty.” Arin scolded.

“I know, no need to scold me, that’s my job,” San responded, craning his head back at you, sending a sly wink your way.

Fuck.

You were leaving tomorrow morning. A week of relaxation, fun, and pure fucking stress. You were ready to leave. Were you?

You lay on Arin’s bed, phone resting on your chest as you stared at the ceiling, a million thoughts clouding your head. Back home to work, school, and mundane everyday life. Surrounded by boring grey buildings and miles and miles of endless pavement, the concrete jungle.

It was beautiful out here, a wonderful change of scenery that you desperately needed. But Arin’s dad had nearly spiraled you into multiple heart attacks, and you weren’t sure how much more you could handle his antics.

The pair was outside playing a few games of horseshoe in the backyard. The sun was getting close to beginning to set. They invited you to come with them, but you insisted you’d join them later, saying you had a headache.

Which wasn’t exactly a lie. You didn’t know if you could act normally with San around, especially after what happened in the woods the other day. Arin almost caught you two.

It's been a few days since, and San seems to be avoiding you now, too. He wasn’t putting in as much effort as you were, but it definitely felt like you were seeing less of him. He’d walk through the living room on occasion, wave a curt hello before disappearing for the rest of the day.

“What's your Dad do up here by himself all the time anyway?” You had asked, huddled next to Erin as you watched a movie on her phone, propped against some book on the living room coffee table. You hadn’t seen San once that day, which was surprising since you had been hanging out in the house all day.

Arin shrugs, sipping her coffee that she guiltily poured a whiskey shot into. “It's not like he's lonely; he's got friends at the hunting club down the mountain and stuff. He told me that while we were down here, though he wouldn't leave the property, so I guess he’s around here somewhere. Probably collecting wood or taking care of the dogs.”

You felt somewhat better knowing that he was actually spending his time doing something productive instead of wasting it by possibly avoiding you. Selfishly, it made you feel like he was beating you at this “game” you two were playing. Keep your hands off each other, but who’s gonna give in first?

Maybe you were just playing it by yourself, but every time he walked past, said his hello, and left once again, his eyes locked with yours, and you swore each time it was like a string connected to you two was being thinned every time you made eye contact.

That string of self-control, of dignity, that every time you looked at each other, a sharp blade nicked it, cutting it down further and further, until eventually it snaps.

You were probably just crazy, though.

You rubbed your eyes, groaning exasperatedly before swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, ready to join them outside. The sun had begun to set, and the sky was painted a stunning orange through the canopy of leaves. You walked downstairs and stepped outside, immediately breathing in the cool evening air. The birds chirped, quieter now that the day was coming to an end. You heard the clink of metal and a few groans and cheers in the distance.

You followed the sounds to the back of the house, where the two were standing off near the raging bonfire. A couple of stakes were lodged into the ground, horseshoes littered about and around, a few perfectly hooked around the stakes, but most looked like they had missed.

“What happened to you, old man? You used to be so good at this,” Arin teased, readying herself to toss another horseshoe.

San scoffed, standing off to the side, arms crossed as he watched her get ready to toss again. “I don’t know why you think you can talk, you’re no better than me, honey.” Arin only proved him right when her horseshoe landed next to the closer stake, nowhere ever close to hooking it.

“See-”

“A buh buh! Not a word.” Arin turned, a bright smile creeping onto her face when she saw you round the corner.

“Hey! Finally joining us? You can see how badly my dad sucks at horseshoes." You smiled and walked to sit on the bench by the bonfire, the orange glow of the flames illuminating the sides of your face.

“Hey, peaches,” San greeted, with a warm smile shot your way. “Why don’t you join in on the next round? We can teach ya if you don’t know how to play.” There was no harm in trying.

You stood and walked over while San ran down the way and picked up the horseshoes littered all over the ground. 

“Alright, rules.” Arin clapped her hands, pointing at the stakes in the ground. “There are two stakes, placed 40 feet apart. We each get a turn tossing the horseshoe at the stake, and the ultimate goal is to hook the horseshoe around the stake; those are called ringers. If your shoe lands within one horseshoe away from the stake, that can be considered one point. But ringers are worth three, which is why those are important.”

San nodded as he walked over, setting down his supply of horseshoes and handing you both one. His finger tips brushed your knuckles when he gave you yours, and you had to pretend it didn’t make your heart leap.

“Another thing, if someone’s shoe lands directly on top of a ringer that you threw, that cancels out your point. No sabotage, no playing dirty. Got that?” 

You nodded. “Sounds fun.”

“It's not fun.” Arin grinned, sticking a tongue out at her dad. “Asshole here will try to cheat no matter what he says.”

San placed a hand on his chest in mock offense, mouth dropping open in a dramatic gasp. “How dare you sully my good name. I’ve been nothing but fair to you!”

Arin rolled her eyes and took her position to throw the horseshoe. “Bullshit.” She muttered, tossing the shoe, landing pretty close to the 20-foot stake.

“Take that, gramps.” She threw her hands up in the air, and you high-fived her as she walked back to the red cooler near the fire to grab herself a beer.

“Why do you always dig at my age, hun? So rude to the man who raised you.”

“It's your biggest flaw,” Arin replied, cracking the beer open, the can hissing as the pressure released.

San laughed aloud, picking up a horseshoe and positioning himself to throw. “That’s funny, you know I don’t have any flaws.” Lining up his arm, he tossed the horseshoe, landing a ringer around the 40-foot stake. “That's what I'm talkin’ about!” He grinned, biting his bottom lip triumphantly as he turned to look at you, hands crossed against his chest, the look on his face nothing but smug.

“Ever humble much,” Arin muttered around a sip of her can, turning to have a seat on the bench to wait for her next turn.

San turned towards you. “Wanna let me teach you how to throw?”

You smiled nervously, peeling the flaking rust off the shoe. “I’m sure it's pretty self-explanatory.” San rolled his eyes and walked behind you, positioning his body behind yours. Broad and tall against your back, his arms came forward and gently gripped your forearms, positioning your arms into a pitching position.

“There's a method.” He whispered, leaning his head down so he was by your ear. The back of your neck tingled, and your skin felt warm where he held your arms.

“You’re gonna wanna pull this arm back, and most people think you pitch like a frisbee.” He gently urged your arm back, his hand sliding up to adjust the angle of your wrist. “Not quite, though. Keep your arm in line with your body, and limbs straight, then just toss.”

His presence was gone, and you felt cold in the absence of his touch. You swallowed and tossed the shoe. It landed just by the 20-foot stake, not too bad for your first pitch.

“There ya go!” San shouted, and you could practically hear the grin on his face. “Good job, peaches, you’re almost as good as me.” A warmth in your chest bloomed, and you tried everything in your power to ignore it.

Arin coughed. “I’d say she’s better than you.” You turned, unable to stop the wide smile on your face, watching as the two of them started bickering again. You were having fun.

After another hour or so of playing, you all were gathered around the fire, drinks in hand, laughing and chatting idly, listening as the crickets sang, the entire yard enveloped in darkness now that the sun had set.

Arin had ultimately taken the game, to which she spent 30 minutes alone rubbing it in San’s face. San sat and took the heat, nursing his beer and frankly ignoring her for most of her bragging.

“Done?” he deadpanned when she finally finished.

“Yeah, I guess,” Arin replied, smiling proudly. “I’ll probably tell you all about it tomorrow, too.”

Your beer was half finished, and you were starting to feel a bit sleepy.

“Well, I… unlike my passenger princess here.” Arin pointed at you, and you threw your hands up in a “what?” fashion. 

“I should probably head to bed since I’ll be driving all day tomorrow morning. See you in bed (Name)?” Arin looked over at you, and you nodded in response.

“I'll be there soon, g’night Arin.” Arin walked over and wrapped you in a sideways hug, kissing the top of your head. She walked over to San next, to whom he stood and bear hugged the oxygen out of her.

“Love you, honey,” San mumbled. “Good night, sleep well.” 

Arin waved to you both, took her beer, and walked into the darkness back around to the front of the house. Fireflies danced all around the yard, flashing bright sparkles of yellow in stark contrast against the black forest.

San glanced over at you, watching as you took in the scenery, the bonfire dancing on your skin. The moon glares brightly in the sky, and just as your eyes were skimming the edge of the woods, you saw something.

“San!” you whispered, staying very still and staring off into the dark. “A deer!”

“Huh?’’ San questioned, turning round to follow your line of sight, and lo and behold, at the edge of the forest, a deer poked its head from the darkness, one foot on the lawn.

“Oh yeah, they come out all the time, especially when it's dark.” San watched as you stood from your seat, softly beginning to creep towards the edge of the yard towards the forest.

“Peaches, what are you doing?” San mumbles, standing as he follows your figure.

“I’m gonna pet it.” You whispered. San laughed softly at your ridiculousness. 

“She’s not gonna let you pet her, they’re too skittish.” But you were already at the edge of the yard, just a few yards away from the nimble creature. Its wide dark eyes scanned your body, lifting its snout to sniff the air cautiously.

To San’s surprise, the doe didn’t move, staying in place the closer you got. You pause right where the trees began to take over the land, and the deer took a couple of steps closer to you.

San’s eyes widened as he watched, a few paces behind you, as the deer went out of its way to step closer to you. “Hey sweet thing…” You whispered gently, falling slowly to your knees to make yourself appear smaller and less threatening.

The doe sniffed the air a little more, gently lowering its head to press its snout into your outstretched hand.

“Well, I’ll be…” San muttered incredulously. You were beautiful. The doe allowed you to stroke its coarse fur, the moon shone off your hair, and cast a soft glow on your skin. San took one step closer, but it startled the doe. Her head ripped from your gentle pets and quickly turned to retreat into the woods.

“San! You scared her!” you whined, and stood, leaves crunching under your feet as you walked past the tree line, into the dark of the woods.

“Sorry! Hey, not so fast now! Where are you going?”  You walked a little further into the woods, the moon providing a little light through the canopy, illuminating the ground. After a few paces, you narrowed your eyes to peer further into the dark wood, catching one final glance of the doe.

It had stopped and turned as if to meet your gaze one last time, before bounding off into the branches. You sighed, listening as San walked up behind you.

“You can’t just wander off like that, sweetheart, especially at night,” he scolded. You weren’t really listening.

“She let me get so close; she was so pretty.” You muttered. You turned to look at San, his large form blocking the entrance to the woods, the moonlight bouncing off his skin. The faint yellow light from the house backlit his figure, and the look he was giving you.

His eyebrows furrowed, his plump bottom lip tucked between his teeth, arms crossed. You suddenly felt small next to him, and he smiled.

“Never seen a doe let someone pet them like that. Guess she really liked ya, huh?” You couldn’t help but smile.

“I guess I can say it's an honor.” Silence stretched, the crickets chirped, and a far-off owl hooted in the distance. San eye’s eyes never left yours, and suddenly, you were very aware that you were, in fact, incredibly isolated with him right now. Surrounded by nothing but trees and darkness.

“You gonna miss me when you leave?” San’s voice cut through the thick silence. He took one step closer, and you didn’t move back.

“Do you want me to say yes?” you asked, craning your neck to look up at him. His eyes softened, and his eyebrows raised.

“Do you want me to miss you?” San questioned. You were dancing around each other, not giving the other the answers they wanted. You didn’t reply for a second, and San took that moment to step even closer. This time, you stepped backward, and San only followed the further you walked back. 

“I don’t know if I should tell you that.” You replied, whimpering quietly when you felt your back hit a tree. San stood before you, looking tall and dangerous, surrounded by the darkness, and you felt your heart stop for a moment.

“What, afraid I’ll like your answer too much?” San grinned, leaning his head down, one hand lifting to tilt your chin up to lock eyes with him. “Look at me, and tell me you won’t miss this.” He leaned his head further down, his nose barely brushing yours. His hand ghosted up the side of your neck, sliding his fingers through your hair and cradling the back of your head. “Miss us. Miss me.”

You swallowed, suddenly hyper aware of how he had you backed against the tree, in the secluded night of the forest, alone. Remote. It was… exciting.

San’s free hand slipped under your shirt, gently caressing up the side of your waist, the warmth of your skin seeping into his touch. You shivered against him, your lips just brushing his so slightly as you unconsciously arched into his touch. Your eyelids fluttered, and San didn’t miss one second of your reactions.

He exhaled deeply, his hand trailing further up your torso, sliding to massage your lower back.

“What if I told you that I’d miss you so fucking much, baby.” He mumbled, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. “I’d miss that laugh, your little attitude you love giving me.” Another kiss along your jaw, then one on the side of your throat. “I’d miss your sweet voice, and how it sounds when you say my name…”

Your mouth opened in a quiet whine. “San..”

The hand on the back of your head gripped your hair, tight, craning your neck upward. “Yeah, just like that.” He brushed his lips against yours, smiling when you leaned forward in an attempt to chase him. “One last time, baby.” He mumbled against you, pressing his body closer to yours, caging you against the tree.

“Give me one more night before you leave,” he nearly whined, voice so low you could feel it travel through your body. “Please.”

Your breath caught, and you nodded slowly. “Yes…”

It was all he needed. Slowly, he opened his mouth and swallowed your lips, groaning into the kiss as you melted into him. The hand in your hair slipped away to hold your hips, pressing your lower body against his as he kissed you so heavily your head pressed against the back of the tree, the bark digging into your scalp.

He tried to be slow, be gentle, and take his time with you, really savor you. But the more you moaned into his mouth and the more he tasted, the more frenzied he became. He growled against your lips, kissing you like you were the oxygen he breathed, hands tight on your hips as he held you in place.

“Fucking perfect…” he sighed into your mouth. He pulled his lips from yours, keeping his hands on your hips as he lifted your body off the ground. He crouched, laying your body down on the ground, the cold grass soft in contrast to the tough tree bark. His lips were on you again in seconds, hands roaming up and down your body, underneath your shirt and around your neck, up your arms and along your thighs.

Your back arched against the forest floor, San kissed down your neck, lifting your shirt and pulling it over your head, peppering kisses down your chest, between the valley of your breasts, over your stomach, stopping where your shorts began.

His fingers unclipped the button of your shorts, sliding them down and off your legs. He kisses along the valleys of your thighs, sucking and licking marks into the sensitive flesh.

You sighed, your hands coming down to bury your fingers in his hair.

“Want me to eat you out right here, pretty girl?” He groaned into another kiss on your thigh.

“Fuck… yes please…!” You mewled, gripping his hair harder and tugging him closer to your aching cunt. He pressed a wet, open-mouthed kiss against your clothed clit, moaning at how your wetness seemed through the thin layer of cloth. He nipped at your clit through your panties, tearing a sharp gasp from your lips.

You bit your bottom lip, stifling your pretty moans. San did not like that.

“Uh uh. Stop that.” He ripped your panties off your legs, tossing them into the consuming darkness. His hands hooked under your thighs, holding your legs up as he lay flat on his stomach, hovering his drooling mouth over your fluttering pussy.

“We’re in the middle of the woods, peaches, no need to keep your voice down. I want you to be loud for me.” Giving you no time to argue, he buried his face between your legs, eagerly slurping up your wetness sloppily, kissing your lips, and wrapping his lips around your sensitive clit, sucking and licking like crazy.

You yelped, and your hands tugged his hair hard, his groans traveling through your body, causing you to shiver against his touch. Your moans fell from your lips, loud and broken as they echoed off the trees.

“That's more like it,” San growled into your cunt, smiling every time you tugged his hair harder. “Get loud for me, baby. Nobody can hear you but me.”

San ate you like a man starved, the wet noises obscene as they echoed around the forest. He was relentless, giving you no time to breathe as he ate you out like you were the best thing he's ever tasted.

He slipped one hand from under your thigh, trailing it down to slip two fingers into your soaked pussy. You cried out, and San only continued to abuse your clit with his tongue as his fingers curled inside of you, desperate to drive you towards your orgasm.

“Feel me, baby,” San lifted his lips from your clit to press a few kisses along your inner thighs. Pressing his fingers up inside of you, giving you no mercy. He was doing everything to drag those desperate noises out of you, find those spots that made your brain go numb.

“Fuck, San… let up! Slow d-down!” you cried, hands flying down to push him away as you felt your orgasm rushing toward you at record speeds. His fingers were unabating inside you, giving you no time to even think.

“You’ll be alright, sweetheart, just take what I give you.” He growled before latching his lips back onto you, smiling when your body jerked again. “Not gonna stop until I’m done.”

You threw your head back against the forest floor, mouth hung open in pure pleasure. All you could see was the canopy leaves above you, the moon’s silver rays peaking through the blanket above the forest. All you could feel was San’s fingers inside of you, playing your body like an instrument, like he’s known you forever.

You were shameless with your moans, and you were almost worried Arin might be able to hear and think you were being mauled by a wild animal. But you didn’t care, San was making you feel so good, worrying somebody could hear you two was the last thing you could think about. All you could think about was him, his big rough hands, his thick arms, and his sinful tongue.

Your breathing stuttered when San’s fingertips repeatedly massaged against that spongy spot deep inside of you, digging your fingernails into the earth to try and prevent your soul from flying off. Dirt caked under your nails and your eyes squeezed shut, that familiar knot in your lower belly tightening by the second.

“I feel you, you’re almost there.” San keened into your pussy, growling, sending sharp vibrations through your body. “Focus, pretty baby, I’m gonna get you there, don’t worry.”

His words floated in the brisk air of the woodland, and San thought he had to be in heaven. He rolled his hips against the ground to try and ease the tight pain his hard-on was straining through his pants. He could probably just cum from hearing you cry for him.

“C-Cumming, oh my god…” You gasped, your voice already hoarse as you fought the urge to kick your legs.

San lifted his hand, pulling his lips off your swollen clit, and landed a harsh slap against your pussy, fingers still curling and coiling inside of you. You yelped, and your thighs vibrated against him as the stinging pain subsided into a buzzing pleasure.

“Not, “oh my god.” He bit out, pressing another wet kiss to your thigh. “What’s my name, peaches?”

“San..” you whined, bucking your hips as you neared closer to your climax.

“Again.” He demanded, slapping your poor cunt again, your shoulders tensing at the pain.

“San!” you moaned loudly, and he smiled.

“My good fucking girl.” He slid his fingers out of you, and just as you were about to whine in protest, he slid his arms under your thighs, hooking his arms around them and keeping a strong hold on your lower body.

Then he lifted you off the ground and flipped you over. He lay on his back, arms hooked around your thighs as you now straddled his face, nose pressed against your clit as he held your lower body down on his face so you couldn’t run away.

“Now cum on my face, baby, make a mess of me.” His voice was breathless as he slid his tongue inside of you in place of his fingers, shaking his head from side to side underneath you so his nose repeatedly nudged against your clit. Your hands flew down to plant on the ground above his head, holding your upper body up so you couldn’t fall over. 

He flipped you over so you were riding his fucking face. He was so strong, and it made your chest ache with need.

Your voice was raw, and you saw flashes of white as your orgasm crashed into you so strongly that you stopped breathing.

San tongue fucked you through, hands gently guiding your hips back and forth on his face so you could ride it out.

“H-holy shit,” you croaked, eyes rolling as you came so hard your legs immediately gave out, letting your full body weight rest on his face.

San slurped your juices up greedily, grumbling and moaning into your cunt until you were an overstimulated crying mess on top of him.

When he was finally done, your pleas for mercy caused his dick to jump in his pants. He pressed one final kiss to your clit and gently slid his hands up your body to encircle your waist, to lift you off of him. “Need to be inside you,” breathless and desperate. “Now.”

He laid your spent body back on the forest floor, lifting your left leg to rest your ankle over his shoulder. He ripped his shirt over his head, tossing it. His belt was next, unbuckling it, the loud metal clanking in your ears.

When he had it off, he wrapped it around his knuckles; his chest was gleaming with sweat, rising and falling with his heavy breaths. He looked down at you in the darkness, flushed and eyes hazy. His hair brushed over his lust-crazed eyes; he was crazy for you.

“Hands.” He commanded, and you lifted your arms, presenting your wrists to him. He wrapped the belt around your wrists, securing them together and tying it tightly so you couldn’t break free. 

“You don’t get to run from this, gorgeous,” he spoke breathlessly, slipping his pants just far enough down to free his aching cock. He was unbelievably hard, tip flushed pink and leaking an insane amount of pre as it sprang out, slapping against his stomach. You swallowed, struggling against the restraints, only then realizing he had bound you well. You really weren’t going anywhere.

He leaned over your body, pressing his lips against your neck as he lined his cock up with your cunt, his tip just barely kissing your entrance. He locked his eyes with yours, one hand secured around your calf to keep your leg over his broad shoulder,  while the other held your waist down and in place against the ground.

“Eyes on me, pretty.” He whispered against your lips. You nodded in his hold, and San pressed his lips against yours in a starved kiss. His tongue delved into your mouth, ravenous.

He slid inside of you in one rough thrust. His hips connected with yours, and you gasped into his kiss, not expecting him to push into you in one go. He chuckled against you, immediately setting a slow, deep rhythm inside of you, in stark contrast with how he entered you.

“Aww, baby, sorry. It just slipped in.” He sighed, your warm cunt hugging his cock so tight he twitched inside of you. “I’ll try to be gentler.” His tone was mocking as he rocked his hips into you, the languid drag of his cock inside of you pulling stuttering breaths from your lungs as he fucked you against the earth.

The leg he kept on his shoulder twitched in his hold every time he pushed deep into you, damn near kissing your cervix. Your eyes rolled, and the moans you were letting out were downright sinful. 

Every roll of his abdomen dragged the tip of him against your G-spot, making your back arch and your limbs shake. San’s eyes stayed glued to your body, loving how his fingers sank into your plush flesh like you were made of velvet. The moonlight cast shadows of the tree leaves against your glowing skin, branches and leaves stuck to your hair, but you had never looked so appetizing to him.

“Ahh…fuck.” He exhaled, unable to keep up the slow strokes as he pulled his hips back again and thrusted back into you harder and vigorously, buried so deep inside of you, your brain fuzzed.

Agile and precise, he fucked into you using your spent body like a toy.

“Gonna miss this pussy so bad, baby.” He grunted through clenched teeth, eyes glued to where your body sucked him in so eagerly. “Gonna miss that pretty voice, your soft skin.”

His hip stuttered when you clenched around him, his lustful praises getting to your head. “Lemme stretch you out a bit..” he gently pushed your leg closer to your body, leaning his torso further down so he could press his chest against yours, covering your body like a blanket.

The muscles in your leg burned only for a second before the piston of his cock driving inside of you was too much of a distraction to notice it. Your high-pitched whines and whimpers only spurred him on further, angling his hips, searching for the perfect angle.

“Not there?” he whined, trying another angle, his deep, targeted thrusts making your voice shake.

“San..!” you cried out, your cunt feeling bullied. He ignored you.

“Mm, fuck not here either?” One last try, angling his hips upward into you, and when your body went stiff and you threw your head back, banging it against the cold ground, San knew he had found it.

“There it is…” he sighed, pounding relentlessly inside you, eager to make you feel so good you pass out. “You’d think I remembered by now, huh?” Of course, he had to tease, even when he’s balls deep inside of you. Always so playful.

Your hands writhed in your constraints; you wanted to touch him. Grab his hair, run your hands down his abs, hold onto his meaty arm. San knew this; he loved to watch you battle with your lack of control under him.

“You wanna touch me, baby?” San teased, leaning to press a kiss to the top of your head, gentle and soft, while he drove his thick cock in and out of you like an animal.

You nodded, tears in your eyes. “Please..” you begged. “I wanna touch you, Sannie, please..!” San’s eyes rolled, fuckng you even harder at the sweet sound of your pleas.

“You can touch me when you cum again, sweetheart.” The hand holding your waist slides to press his fingers against your sore clit, petting it in quick circles.

“Cum and you can touch me. You can do it, baby.” You squeezed your eyes shut and focused on him inside of you, and the stimulation on your clit. His mouth pressed against the shell of your ear, peppering it with wet kisses, his groans and whines directly hitting your ear, making your stomach clench.

“C’mon, baby, you’re so close, put your back into it. Work for me.” San clicked his tongue, pressing up against your clit. You rolled your hips against him to match his thrusts, and then you felt that coil in your stomach again.

“Close, close, close…” You muttered, chanting as you focused on your climax. San only fucked into you harder because, in all honesty, he wanted to reward you for working so hard for him. He wants your hands all over him while he chases his own high with your body.

Unrelenting and unending, you toppled over the edge, cumming on his cock, cunt clenching, and body vibrating. San’s hips never stopped, dragging you through your orgasm every time his hips connected with yours, wet slaps of skin echoing off the trees.

“Fuck yes… that's it!” San’s hands grabbed your bound wrists and quickly ripped the belt off of you, setting your hands free. Immediately, your hands flew to grab his biceps, moaning shamelessly as he fucked you through your orgasm.

“Yeah, yeah, gonna fuck you full of my cum, baby. You want it? You want me to fill you up?” San babbled on, swallowing your lips in a deep kiss. Overstimulation began to ache in your stomach, and you nodded against him, a whimpering, whiny mess underneath him, drooling and dripping wet as he smoothly slipped in and out of your slippery pussy.

“Y-yes…” you cried, voice nearly gone and eyes brimming with tears. “Please fill me up, oh god… Sannie, need it…!”

San’s voice broke, his hips sloppy and losing the rhythm as he lost himself inside of you.

“O-okay, baby, ‘m gonna fill you up. Gonna fuck my cum into you, you gonna take it for me?” San's hands grabbed either side of your waist, grounding himself inside of you.

You muttered out broken ‘yes’s and hushed ‘please’s, begging him to cum inside of you. Letting out a guttural, drawn-out groan, his hips paused only for a second before spilling himself inside you. He picked up the pace again, staying true to his word and fucking his cum deep inside of you, the hands on your waist gripping so tight you were sure it would leave bruises.

“Fuck, baby, look at you take it.” San’s hips slowed, gently rocking his hips into yours, pushing his cum further into you.

Catching his breath, his thrusts came to a slow stop, leaning down to kiss you softly, sighing into his mouth, satisfied.

When you both had a second to calm down, you frowned. “I have dirt all over me.”

San laughed, kissing your temple and gently massaging your stomach, setting your leg down to let it rest. “Welcome to the country, peaches, can’t go nowhere without gettin’ a little dirt on you.”

You both snuck back into the house and got each other cleaned up, trying your very best not to wake Arin up, but San’s loud footsteps nearly gave you a heart attack.

“Sorry,” he whispered, leading you to the shower. “I can’t help it.” After a warm, soothing bath and tending to the marks on your wrists from San’s belt. He sent you off to bed with a soft hug and a kiss on the forehead.

“Sweet dreams, sweetheart. I’ll see you tomorrow morning when you leave.” You smiled and walked back into Arin’s room, slowly creaking the door shut, grateful to see that she was still sound asleep in the bed.

You crawled into bed next to her and sighed, checking your phone to see the time. 12 am.

You left early in the morning to head back home, and you needed at least a little sleep, so you drifted off. The last thought on your mind was, of course. San.

“Alright, ladies, the truck’s all packed up. I’m sending you home with a cooler of snacks. I expect you to bring it back when you visit again next year.”

Arin rolled her eyes, leaning against the truck bed. “Is this your way of forcing us to come back? So we have to return the cooler?”

San frowned, “I never said that. Maybe I won’t miss you as much as I thought.” You laughed, and San’s heart warmed at the sound. He’s gonna miss that.

“Alright, well I won’t keep ya’ll too long. I know traffic’ll start to get bad soon. Arin, come give your old man a hug.” Arin frowned, walking towards her dad with outstretched arms. They embraced, for a long time, San grunting as he squeezed. “I love you, honey.” He mumbled, rubbing her back softly.

“I love you too, Dad,” Arin responded. You swear you hear her voice wobble only slightly.

Eventually, they let go, then San looked over at you next. “C’mon, you too, peaches, bring it in.” You sighed, a soft smile on your face as you walked over to him. He hugged you just like he had when you first met, but it lasted a little longer, his arms locked over your hips, your arms secure around his neck, like neither one of you wanted to let go this time.

“I’ll miss ya,” he whispered in your ear, only to you. Your heart swelled.

You both pulled away, and you walked back over to Arin. “Thanks for having us, Dad. Don’t worry, we’ll be back soon enough. Try not to double over from a heart attack before then.”

San playfully winced, holding a hand over his heart and furrowing his brows in mock pain. “Ohhh, my grey hairs and my frail bones… I won’t make it.”

Arin waved him off dismissively, laughing to herself as she got into the truck. You climbed into the bed, wanting to lie in the back on the ride down the mountain to relish in nature one last time before you rejoined civilization.

She started the truck and began driving down the path, and you watched from the bed, eyes locked with San’s as you slowly pulled away from the house. He waved to you, smiling. You waved back, and in response, he blew you a kiss.

Your mouth dropped, and you couldn’t hear the laugh, but you could see the crinkle in his eyes and the wide smile that graced his face. You watched him the entire time the truck drove, his eyes never pulling away from you, until the house was just a speck amongst the trees, eventually disappearing among the vast expanse of looming timber.

You lay down in the truck bed, sighing as you stared up into the sky as the sun rose above the treeline. You still felt a twinge of guilt about what you had done, but you reassured yourself, Arin never had to know. Just keep your mouth shut, and don’t think about him too much.

You just hoped that next time you visited, he’d be a little more gentle with you, because these hickeys all over your body are not gonna have mercy when it comes to covering them up.

You couldn’t wait to visit again.

The air was chill and fresh, your ears still not used to the thinness, your hearing slightly muffled as the wind rushed past them. The sun was warm, and the air was comfortable, perfectly cool. The long, curving roads wound and turned seemingly endlessly. Around every corner was either a breathtaking view of the far countryside, tall green hills with vast acres of forest below that you would be bound to lose yourself in. Or vast, green fields with a couple of groups of brown spread about, which you could only assume were cows.

Your best friend was driving in the front seat, all windows lowered as “American Teenager” blasted from her little, busted-up radio. The sun caught her skin beautifully as one hand rested out the window and the other steered. She sang loudly and happily, you joining in from the back.

As the song played, you thought long and hard about the decision of coming out here with her. You and Arin had been together since freshman year in high school. She had been living with her grandma when you guys met, both city girls, it seemed.

Until you came over to her house for the first time, and her walls were littered with deer heads and fishing poles. She laughed at your reaction, excited to tell you all about her family and her lifestyle. About how she grew up deep in the rural south before moving closer to the big cities to help pursue better education and better job opportunities.

She lived with her grandma in the city, while her divorced parents remained in the countryside, residing in separate housing. Her mom lived in a modest trailer off a dirt road closer to the north, while her dad lived in a rustic, wooden house deep in the Smokies. 

Years later, both of you in your sophomore years of University, she had brought up the idea that to kick off summer break, you should come with her on her annual visit to her dad's.

You knew next to nothing about her father, only that he lived in the woods and was divorced. She never really talked about her parents, and you never chose to pry.

Ecstatic, to say the least, were you to hear that she wanted to bring you along. You always connected well with nature, and a week's trip into the woods would probably work like the best natural medicine.

So here you were, 4 hours into the trip, 2 hours left as you both cruised through the mountains, never feeling freer in your life. 

Your lungs felt cleaner, and your bones felt like they were melting into your skin as you deflated in the truck bed, falling deep into a nap as your friend continued driving home, knowing the roads with the back of her hand.

The truck rumbling and your speed decreasing awoke you from your nap. You rose, stretching and yawning, cursing yourself for sleeping on such a bumpy surface. When you took in your surroundings, you noticed you weren't on the road anymore. Instead, you were deep in the forest, and every surrounding area was just tall, looming trees. The birds sang and the wind whistled, the sun barely peeking through the green canopy of leaves way above. The truck was slowly climbing up a narrow dirt road, even deeper into the mouth of trees.

“Are we almost there, Arin?” You continued to glance around, enamoured by the pure beauty and richness of where you were right now. 

“Just about a mile more and we’ll be up the driveway.” You snorted, and she sighed, expecting this. 

“This is the driveway? I feel bad for the mailman.” Arin laughed, waving her hand, urging you to crawl back through the back window into the backseat so she could talk to you better. 

Shimmying back in the window, you lay on your stomach in the back seat. “It is really beautiful out here, though, Arin.” You smiled and she smiled back, a bright, radiant one.

“Yeah, I missed it. But after a couple of days, I'll get sick of getting bit up by bugs and all the coyotes and their incessant howling.” She groaned and shrugged.

“But it's always nice to see my dad. He’s a super, like, handy guy, always fixin’ stuff and whatnot. I gotta ask him to look at my truck because it’s been making that weird scraping sound lately. I know he could fix it no ish.” You listened as she talked, continuing to talk about her childhood. Spew random facts about the local wildlife, and the best scenic spots as well.

Before long, a clearing appeared, in the middle of which was the most beautiful, quaint cabin. Fragrant cedar wood with black trimming; the house also had a decent-sized fire pit, close to the edge of the clearing where the forest swallowed everything up again.

It was so strange, the presence the cabin seemed to have. It was the center of attention, oddly out of place, but it still felt like it belonged. Like the forest accepts it as part of it. Maybe you were overanalyzing things, but you couldn’t deny how beautiful the whole scene was.

“Alright, and here we are.” Stopping the truck beside another, taller, and newer truck, she shifted into park and took out the key. She turned to you and grabbed your hands in hers. “Okay, so, let's get the luggage, I don't know where my dad is right now–” she stopped to mull and try to think if she might have a clue.

“He could be sleeping, I don’t know. But I know he’s here because his truck is here. I thought he would be out front to greet us like he said… guess not.” She shrugged and let go, opening her door and walking to the truck bed. You followed suit, stepping out onto the gravel with a satisfying crunch. You and Arin began sorting through luggage, trading bags and freaking out when you both realized you left the cooler back on campus. 

“Fuck!” Arin yelled at the sky in utter defeat. “We had to leave the whole cooler. I had moonshine peaches in there.” You sigh, upset about the cooler, consoling your friend. You rubbed her back in soothing circles as she dramatically let her forehead fall against the truck bed.

Before you could open your mouth to say anything, a thick, strong arm snaked around your waist and gripped you tight, fingers digging into your stomach. You were lifted into the air, your back pressed against a firm, built chest, before a scream started to bubble up. Arin screamed at the same time as you, feet also off the ground, with an arm around her waist, too.

“Gotcha.” A teasing voice sounded from behind you two, you were set down in a split second as Arin broke into a big smile and ran to hug the person.

“Dad! What the hell you scared the shit out of us.” You stood by the truck and watched as the two of them hugged.

Oh god.

Oh my god.

Yeah, this was insane.

Her dad was insanely hot. Sporting a black compression tank top that traced every curve and dip on muscle from his chest to his abdomen, dark blue jeans that hugged his thick thighs, and a beige pair of chaps. He had an orange and black flannel tied around his waist and a sturdy pair of cowboy boots on him. And don't even get started with his face.

Plush lips, defined nose, eyes like a hawk. His black hair was tousled, strands falling over his forehead, and a clear pair of glasses sat on the bridge of his nose. His large, meaty arms wrapped Arin tightly in a hug before turning to you and smiling. He had that same radiant smile his daughter had. His pretty eyes crinkled as he laughed at your expression.

He reached forward and rubbed your upper arm apologetically. “I’m sorry for scarin’ you darlin’.” The pet name made the neurons in your brain go haywire as he stepped closer to you, his arms coming up and around to envelop you in a hug next.

His arms flexed as they closed around your waist, hand locking at your hips. Instinctively, your hands came up and wrapped around the back of his neck. A rather intimate hug that was over before it even began.

“I can't believe this is my first time meetin’ you, peaches. You’re all Arin ever talks about whenever she comes down and sees me. Makes me think she misses you more than her old man.” He pouts playfully, looking at Arin, who was rolling her eyes, then looking back at you. He smiled and leaned down to half whisper in your ears.

“See-” he pointed a thumb behind him at her. “She doesn’t even love me.” Arin stomped over and playfully pushed her dad away from you, picking up your luggage and walking away.

“Dad, stop being a baby and help us make a mess of your house with all our stuff.” You started picking up some luggage, and just as you went to reach for the last bag, Arin’s dad grabbed it. You looked up and locked eyes with him, seeming like he was already looking at you before.

He smiled at you again, warm and welcoming. “Mr. Choi.” You forced the words out of your mouth, trying not to trip over them. “It's nice to meet you, thank you for letting me stay.”

San waved a hand at you and scoffed like it was no big deal. “You are more than welcome, c'mon now. My daughter has never been happier since becomin’ friends with you. You’re doin’ me a favor by not sending her home to me all angsty and irritated. And please, call me San. No need to be so polite with me, sweetheart.”

You laughed softly, taking every inch of your willpower to look anywhere but his arms, holding the suitcase like it weighed nothing. Arin came back out with a new pep in her step as she wrapped her arm around yours and began leading you away. “Quit holding her up, now I have to show her around.” 

“Bye, honey, love you too.” He waves to his daughter.

 “See you soon, peaches!” he calls to you. You quirked your head around to look at him while Arin led you away, catching him staring you down intently just as you turned the corner into the doorway.

When he's out of sight, you turn to your best friend, trying to calm your racing heart. “Peaches? Is he serious, Arin?” She shrugged. like it was no big deal, leading you down the hallway to a set of bedrooms.

“I don’t know (Name), he just has nicknames for everyone, he always calls you that.” Whatever that meant, but any further questions you had died on your tongue.

After a couple of hours of unpacking and getting settled, you and Arin were sitting on the living room couch, cuddled into each other, reading your respective “assigned books” for the summer. You both were readers and were eager to reach a 50-book goal by the end of the summer. So you guys pick books for each other and read them together.

The fireplace crackled, and a warm, calming atmosphere descended on the room, nearly lulling you to sleep. You hadn’t seen Mr. Choi since meeting him outside earlier that day. You wanted to ask Arin where he went, but you thought she would think you were weird for wanting to keep tabs on her dad. So you just didn’t say anything.

But you must have been thinking about it too hard because a minute later, Mr. Choi walks into the living room.

“Arin, honey, will you go start up the bonfire for me, please? I wanna show (Name) here down to the lake.” Your eyes widened and stared at Arin pleadingly not to leave you by yourself, but she had already stood up and began making her way towards the fire pit excitedly. 

“Oooh! You’re gonna have so much fun out here with us. Go with him, it's so nice. I'll catch up when I’m all done.” And she disappeared. You turned to her dad, a nervous smile on your face. He looked completely relaxed, studying your anxious body language carefully, holding eye contact for just a second too long. But he suddenly turned around and began walking to the front door.

“Cmon, follow me.” You hesitated for a second before finding your feet again and walking fast to catch up with him.

It was warm outside, the sun in the last stages of a sunset, the sky a deep blue merging with vibrant oranges. Fireflies danced around the air in a light show of yellow deep within the forest. The wind rushed by silently, and the trees swayed in response to its whispers.

San wordlessly led you down the driveway a bit until he turned onto a small and obscure dirt path that led into the woods. The woods were silent but also so full of life. You felt as if you whispered something everyone and everything within a mile would hear.

But the toads were croaking, and the cicadas were singing in a way that could lull you to sleep again. It was a lot darker now that you had strayed from the house, the only light coming from the sliver of sun left through the canopy.

San stuck close to your side, careful not to lose you. He still hadn’t said a word, and it was beginning to unnerve you a little.

After a little more trekking, you came to a small lamppost that signifies the end of the path, and further past, you noticed a boat tied to a pier and one of the most gorgeous little lakes you had ever seen. Surrounded by tight walls of tall, dark trees, it stood still, and only the slight sloshing of water could be heard.

“Woah.” You walked past San and onto the pier, taking in the view before you. “This is doing more for me than any ibuprofen I've ever tried.”

That gets a heart laugh out of him, a handsome one at that. He's walked up closer behind you as you continue to gaze at the lake.

“Y’know I reckon it’s perfect weather to go swimming in, whaddya say?” Your eyebrows raise as you turn to see San staring at you with a sly smile and a teasing look in his eyes.

You immediately know what's coming. Quickly, you zip your body around and position yourself behind him. His gaze and his body follow you just as fast.

“Don’t you dare.” You warn, nervous giggles bubbling out as you speak, and genuine adrenaline rushes through your veins. San stayed put and didn't move, his shoulders hunched like he would pounce at any moment, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he kept his eyes locked on yours.

“Don’t dare what, sweet pea? What am I going to do?” The smile on your face was impossible to keep down as your heart raced.

“It's gonna be cold!” You squealed as he suddenly jerked forward like he was going to get you. He chuckled and suddenly relaxed his body. He stood up straight and put his hands up in surrender.

“Alright, alright, you can stop givin’ that look now I ‘m not gonna do it.” He smiled and backed away from you slowly, your eyes narrowed, hesitating to turn back and look at the lake again.

“If I turn around and you–” San leans his head forward and makes a stupid, confused face, pointing at himself as if to ask, “who me?”

“--yes, you. I’ll kill you.” He crossed his big, strong, thick arms across his chest and stared at you with an eyebrow raised in a challenge. But he quickly switched to playful intrigue when he caught the way your eye flicked down to his biceps and glued onto them for just a second too long.

You locked eyes with him again and stared for a good minute before you slowly turned back around to the lake. There was no sound of movement behind you. Maybe he really was done playing games. You turned around to give him shit about his behavior but he wasn't there anymore. Confused, you wondered if he jumped in or went back to the cabin.

You turned back around to the lake only to come face to face with none other than San himself. He had bent down so your noses were brushing, and he smiled before picking you up bride style and falling backward into the water with you in his arms.

Before you could scream, you had fallen in the water, wrapped in San’s arms. When you both emerged from under the water, you were both laughing hysterically. Splashing at each other and trying to swim back to land.

“Is this how you treat all your guests, Mr. Choi?” You panted as you lifted yourself onto the edge of the pier, legs dangling off the edge as you sat facing the lake. San remained in the water, swimming to float in front of where you sat, looking up at you.

His hair and his tank top were now soaking wet, and the gold rays of the sun shone off his damp skin beautifully. You were staring, and he had noticed.

San swam closer, now directly in front of your legs. The toads croaked louder, and owls began calling into the deep forest. You craned your neck down to give him your full attention, your feet swung back and forth in the water, tracing patterns in the lake.

San watched you for a moment, This was the most relaxed you had been since arriving on the property. The sun slowly began to sink behind the mountains in the distance, and a chill wind bit at your skin as the sky faded into hues of blues and orange.

“My little girl’s got herself a real pretty friend, huh?” His large hands clasped around each of your ankles, tugging teasingly like he’d pull you in. Your breath hitches at the warmth of his hands around your cold, wet legs.

“Mr. Choi-” He laughed annoyedly, akin to frustration as his last name slipped from your lips yet again.

“C’mon, sweetie, what did I tell you?” You quirked an eyebrow in question, then he yanked you down back into the water. But instead of letting you sink, he kept one arm firm around your waist while the other held your shoulder. Your faces were inches apart, and he gazed into your eyes, not even blinking.

“You can’t seem to remember my name. Let's practice, okay?” His voice lowered to a whisper, with his chest pressed to your own, you could feel the rumble in your body from his words. The hand on your shoulder moved to your collarbones, drifting gently in barely there touches. Up the side of your neck, across your cheek until his thumb was on your bottom lip, pulling down slightly as he admired the plumpness.

“My name is San,” he mumbled, moving to trace the tip of his nose up and down the side of your throat. “Repeat it after me.” He mumbles in your ear, smirking against the shell when he feels you jolt. 

“San..” You tried to say it steadily, but your voice trembled just slightly. Of course, he caught it.

He breathed in deeply and smiled before moving his lips right in front of yours, hovering right above them, so close that a gust of wind could close the gap between them.

“I love how you say it, (Name).”He drawled lowly right against your lips.  It was the first time he had ever said your actual name around you, and you couldn’t deny the way he basically moaned around it had your heart racing. “You seem scared, babydoll, don't tell me you’re scared o' me?” His eyes lock with yours in an intense staredown, lids narrowed with his lips stuck out in a faux pout.

Your hands shot out and gripped the straps of his tank top in each hand to hold yourself steady. He smelled so good, and the slow, condescending tone of his whispers was enough to make you a little dizzy.

“‘M not scared…” You whispered, gnawing at your bottom lip nervously, the tangy taste of blood flooding your tongue.

San held his mouth open right above your own, the thin layer of skin only slightly brushing, tickling almost. His breathing was shaky, and his eyes darted all over your face quickly like he was chasing a laser on it. His arm around your waist squeezed like he was restraining himself, his forehead resting against your own, and his hand cradling your jaw like it was sacred.

His brows knitted in frustration in the most pitiful expression when his eyes roved all over you, your body pressed to his, and the adorable “please” look in your eyes. “Mmm wanna kiss ya’ so bad,” San whined so quietly it was like he was talking to himself.

“Wanna touch you, taste you….” San’s chest hurt. He felt like such a sick guy, wanting his daughter's best friend as badly as he did. Every story he heard of you from his daughter painted you as such a sweetheart, and here you were in front of him finally, and oh…

There was no way San was letting you leave after this trip without him getting his hands on you.

“Wanna thank you for being so good to my daughter.” The smile on his lips contradicted his words. Like his body knew that the lie he just told was ridiculous. This had nothing to do with Arin. And he knew that. He wanted you for you. He wanted you for himself. Even if that makes him a bad, bad man.

You whimpered, you wanted to kiss him, but that means the line would officially be crossed, and there would be no going back. Your lashes fluttered, and his chest rose and fell, his hands came up, and his calloused fingers traced feather-light patterns on the back of your neck.

But before anything could happen, you could hear your name being called in the distance. “(Name)! Dad! Bonfire’s good to go!” 

Quickly, you and San separated with the speed of opposing magnets. You scrambled onto the pier as San stayed in the water, laughing at your frantic attempt to get back on land.

You sneered at him and stood up as your friend ran onto the pier. She saw how soaked to the bone you were and scowled. “Dad, did you push her in? He always does this shit…” he walked over and stared down her dad who was oh so innocently climbing back onto the dock.

“Nah, she got scared and fell into herself. Honest. I think she’s just a little jumpy.” You wanted to kick him, how did he act so innocent like he wasn’t the one who almost jumped your bones in the lake?

 Arin stuck her tongue out at her dad and turned to you. “Cmon y y'all will dry up by the bonfire really quick.”  You watched as she walked away, turning your head to see San’s eyes trained on you. The look in his eyes wasn't anything short of hot-blooded. You stayed for a moment, feeling like even if you moved an inch, he’d grab you and have his way.

His tongue clicked, and he nodded his head at the house, a grin creeping onto his lips. He walks past you as he speaks, a hand coming down and squeezing the side of your waist like an encouragement to move.

 “C’mon, sweetpea, snap out of it.”

You sat in a wooden rocking chair around the pit, the woods dark and looming all around, with the only source of light being the roaring fire in front of you. Arin sat to your left, rambling about a trip she took out of state with her sorority, scrolling through her endless gallery, insisting on telling a story for every picture.

Unfortunately, you were unable to focus. The fire dried all the lake water from your body, but not the wetness between your thighs. Your skin burned, and as you flicked your eyes over to San, who sat directly across from you two behind the fire.

As Arin talked, San’s eyes stayed locked on you and you alone. A stare hotter than the fire itself. Anytime Arin looked up from her phone, San’s eyes switched over and gave her his full attention. But every time she looked elsewhere, his eyes were all over you.

Tracing up your legs, staring at your tummy, up your torso, back onto your eyes. This was too much. He literally would not stop staring. It was taking every ounce of self control San had to not jump up and snatch you up, drag you beyond the tree line, and fuck you on the forest floor untl you were crying from overstimulation. All he wanted to do was play with you. Get his big, rough hands on your soft, pliant body. To have you writhing and bending at his will on his sheets and putting every orgasm you’ve ever had to shame.

If anyone needed to snap out of it, it was San. His fingers twitched as he forced himself to stay still. He found it so cute, the way you refused to look at him too long, or you’d get overwhelmed, thighs shifting in your seat, and your hands playing with the string on your shorts.

This went on for what felt like forever, San continuing to tease you when you looked at him, whether that be him playing with his big hands, measuring his fingers with his eyes locked on yours. Or playing with his belt buckle, the metal clink was quiet against the ambience of the forest, but loud in your ears. Just when you decided you had had enough and wanted to go to bed, San suddenly stood, clapping his hands.

“Well, ladies, I will leave you to it. I’ve got shit to get done tomorrow so I will be heading to bed.” Arin immediately began to boo and mime tomato throwing at her dad.

“Old man!” She whispered, shouted. “Don't forget your Tuesday pills, Gramps.” San rolled his eyes and waved her off. “I’m sure you’ll understand one day, you young folk have got all that energy in ya. My battery runs out faster than yours.” Arin rolled her eyes in response, leaning over to whisper to you.

“Guy can’t even stay up past 9 pm, I'm worried (Name), he's already got half a foot in the grave.” You both burst into a fit of giggles, San hearing what his daughter had said.

“Now you know I am not that old. Plus, even if I'm a little up in years, I still got it.” Without missing a beat, he moved into an obnoxious pose, flexing his arms and tipping the cap on his head. “Ladies.” He flamboyantly chirped, smiling handsomely,

“Ugh, oh my god, Dad, whatever.” They laughed, the light atmosphere easing the tension around the fire.

“Alright, keep me up any longer and I'll nod off standing. I love you, honey.” he came over and planted a kiss on his daughter's head. Arin smiled and lovingly tapped his ankle with her foot. “Love you too, Dad, it's good to be home.” He began to walk away. 

 Arin did the unthinkable.

“Ahem, Dad… what about (Name)? Hmm? Not gonna tell her goodnight? Rude.” Your eyes widened as all attention was on you. The tension returned as your eyes locked with San’s again. His eyebrows raised in surprise at his daughter's remark, but quickly shifted into a lazy smile.

“Of course, how rude of me. So much for southern hospitality.” San walked over and reached his hand down, squeezed your shoulder, and placed a chaste kiss directly on your forehead. “Goodnight, peaches.” He stood, waved, and walked into the darkness back to the house.

He was totally doing this on purpose. Teasing you in front of Arin. It was like he enjoyed seeing you embarrassed. Your best friend never made a note or commented on his behavior, seemingly accustomed to it, as if this was just how he was. Really friendly.

You sat huddled next to Arin, enjoying the sounds of crickets and owls from deep within the wood, the wind blew the orange flames of fire every which way like a frantic dance. It wasn’t until late into the night that you both decided to retreat to bed. You both stood, Arin extinguished the fire, and you both began walking back to the house.

Walking in the front door, you shut and locked it behind you, discarding your shoes on the front porch. The front entrance was barely illuminated, just a candle mounted on the wall in the kitchen, the light spilling from around the corner into the foyer. It was silent, just the wind from outside muffled and the occasional creak of the cabin settling. Arin walked down the hall, turning and making her way to the bedrooms. You followed close behind, almost unnerved by the unnatural stillness of the home.

Arin walked into the bedroom you two were sharing, turning on the lamp on the nightstand by the bed. You both began your respective night routines. Skincare, pajamas, medications.

You sat on the edge of the bed, watching Arin wrap her hair in a silk wrap.

1 day down. 5 more to go. You almost asked Arin if she could take you back to the city so you could call an Uber home. You would say you were sick or that your mother slipped and fell back home. When really you just knew you would feel like the worst person on the planet if you lost your moral compass and fucked her dad.

When she finished, you stood and closed up the drawers and picked up anything off the floor. A far-off rumble of thunder groaned from outside, the wind picking up and swaying the tree leaves in a graceful dance. 

You glanced over at the nightstand, an alarm clock sat next to the lamp.

11:23.

Arin sat at the top of the bed, shimmying under the covers while you lay on the other side, closest to the nightstand. You looked over at her, genuinely happy that she had thought of you when she was planning her vacation home, but you sincerely wished she hadn’t.

Or did you?

Too much thinking for so late into the night.

You turned to look at her, a nearly apologetic look in your eyes. “Thank you again for taking me with you, Arin. It's so refreshing to get away from the city. My lungs feel cleaner already.” Arin smiled and lay down under the comforter with her phone on her chest. 

“Who else would I take silly. Thank you for being so cool around my dad. I know he can be a little much.” She smiled embarrassedly, shrugging her shoulders. Oh, she had no idea. You reassured her with a gentle punch to her stomach.

“He’s not any worse than you are.” Arin’s mouth fell in mock surprise at your teasing.

“You just wait until I’m awake enough to care.” She narrowed her eyes at you, turning around with a giggle to settle into the bed.  You turned your upper body to switch the lamp off, shrouding the bedroom in darkness.

“Goodnight, Arin.” You rubbed her shoulder lovingly, returning the gesture by squeezing your hand. “Night, Name.” The wind howled louder outside the cabin, another crackle of thunder boomed in the night, the sky opened, and the rain began to fall, fat droplets hitting the roof like a soothing white noise. 

The alarm clock glowed an eerie, aggressive red on the nightstand.

2:13.

Arin slept soundly beside you, a loud crack of lightning that cast a bright white light about the room. Shadows splayed on the wall, and the house shook slightly. Your throat was so dry if you tried to take a breath, you would for sure choke. You needed something to drink.

Standing from the bed quietly, careful not to wake her up, you draped the comforter back over her and smoothed over your spot.

In nothing but a black tank top and athletic shorts, you stood by the entrance to your room, peering down the dark, looming hallway that led to the kitchen. The lone light in the kitchen cast shadows surrounded by warm, glowing light. The sound of the AC buzzing faintly in the background as the rain beat against the roof and windows. Silently shutting the door behind you, you made your way down the hall with one mission. A glass of water and a breather.

You walked to the kitchen sink, grabbing a cup out of the cabinet and pouring yourself a glass. You tipped your head back and chugged the glass, the cold water soothing your headache and chilling your insides. With a deep sigh, you set the glass on the counter. You rubbed your eyes, sleep overtaking you again as a yawn bubbled up.

You looked out the window that was placed above the sink. The outside world was dark, the rain pattering against the glass, and the droplets racing down the pane. The wind blew branches from trees around the perimeter of the house, causing them to beat against the walls and windows. A cacophony of different sounds that melded together to harmonize into a sleep-lulling white noise.  

“Hey, peaches…” Soft lips pressed against the shell of your ear as the smell of pine and vanilla engulfed your senses, an arm wrapped around your waist while the other gripped the sink, caging you against the counter. A broad chest pressed against the back of your head as the hand around your waist pressed its fingertips into your lower abdomen. 

San kept his voice quiet, like you were in a bubble, and the slightest noise too loud could burst it. “What’re you doin’ up so late, babydoll? Can’t sleep?” he whispered it teasingly, like he was making fun of you in your ear.

You craned your neck back to shoot him a glare. His eyebrows raised at your expression, before he relaxed at the promise that you’re about to give him a challenge. You looked back at the window in front of the sink. “I’m sick of all your teasing, Mr. Choi. I can’t tell-” the arm gripping the sink came forward and curled before pressing against and around your throat, gentle enough not to restrict airflow or hurt you, but just enough to warn you that he could if he wanted to

The hand holding your waist traced little circles on your abdomen, pressing down every now and then before slowly grazing down further until it played with the strings on your shorts. Twirling them around his thick, rough fingers.

Your head spun at his sudden decision to put you in a headlock, your eyes whipped down, and all you could see was the bulky muscle of his forearm curled around your throat so possessively, you almost let your knees buckle underneath you. His lips oh so gently nipped at the lobe of your ear, kissing down your neck and back up again.

“Aww, baby’s tired of the teasing?” His hand slipped past the waistband of your shorts, dancing over the hem of your underwear. “Want me to just ruin you already, huh? Is that what you want, sweetpea?” His fingers slipped past the waistband of your underwear, tugging away from your skin before letting it snap back against your flesh with a quiet pop. 

You nod quicker than you would have liked to, your body answering before your brain could rationalize your thinking. He laughed under his breath at your eagerness, then used the hand from the arm around your neck to grip your hair in his fist. He held it, guiding your neck to angle downward so your lips were pressed against his bicep.

“Bite down for me, baby.” You hesitated for a moment before opening your mouth, closing your teeth around a spot on the muscle, instinctively running your tongue along the spot to soothe it. San winced, barely, before dipping his fingers past the waistband of your underwear and cupping his hand around your pussy.

“Gotta keep you quiet, sweetheart. Don’t need your pretty little noises being heard. Be good for me and keep it down, and I’ll make you feel so good.” 

You furrowed your brows and focused on the feeling of his finger dragging up between your folds, stopping to massage your clit in slow, sensual circles. Your jaw tightened its grip on his arm, the muscle flexing in response to the stimulation. 

San dragged his finger back down, slipping his middle and ring finger inside of you, your thighs squeezing around his wrist in response as his arm slightly tightened around your neck. You moaned into his arm, your own hands coming up and gripping the arm snaked in your shorts and subtly but not so subtly ground your clit against his wrist as he fucked his fingers into you, working you open and trying to perfectly hit that breathtaking spot inside you.

Deep in your cunt his fingers curled just perfectly, grazing your g-spot and causing a full body shiver to travel through you as your clit bumped the palm of his hand simultaneously. 

San pressed his open mouth against your cheek, mocking your heavy breathing and whining teasingly with his own voice, smiling when you clenched around his fingers. His eyebrows knitted to copy your pleasure ridden face. God if he only had a mirror in front of you both right now.

“Nasty, nasty girl.” He clicked his tongue, pressing the pads of his fingers against that spongy spot inside of you, rubbing in pressurized circles. Your voice began to slip, the feeling too intense, toes curling as you drooled all over his bicep.

“San… oh my god, so good…” your head lolled back, no longer bothering to silence yourself as the rain outside grew so heavy it felt like the house was encased in TV static. 

San groaned, moving his arm around your throat and gripping your neck with his hand. He angled your head up and leaned his head down. Tracing his lips against yours as he continued to work further to your orgasm with his fingers, his lips slotted with yours desperately. You let yourself whimper and cry into his mouth, his tongue sliding down your throat and drinking your sounds up happily. He nibbled on your bottom lip, grinding his palm against your clit and massaging your spot harder.

“That's it. Don’t worry about anything else. Focus on that feeling. Focus on me.” His thumb rubbed into the side of your throat soothingly. A fire flickered in his eyes when he looked into yours and watched the way you practically melted at the look he gave you. And that was all he needed before he whipped you around to face him, slipping his fingers out of you.

He ripped your shorts and underwear down and off your legs, tossing them somewhere into the darkness of the kitchen. His arms hooked under your thighs and lifted you up… up.. Until your legs were on his shoulder. He had you high up on the wall, back pressed against the cold wall. His big hands sank into your plush thighs as he held them on his shoulders, his face snug between your legs. He was standing… holding you on his shoulders like you weighed nothing.

You went rigid for a moment, for being so high up, and San between your thighs. It all happened so quickly.

His hot breath was clouding your cunt, the warm feeling causing your thighs to shiver and your eyes to roll in anticipation. His hands squeezed your thighs tightly in warning, his eyes meeting yours for a second.

“Quiet. I just need to taste you, just once… one time.” He buried his face in your soaked cunt, his nose bumping against your clit and his tongue sucking like a fucking man starved. Like he was drinking you.

Your whimpered crackled from your chest in no time, your hands flying to his hair to get a grip so you wouldn't fall off his goddamn shoulders. “Sannie.. Nghmm… can’t stay hah.. Quiet..” The noises were obscene.

The slurping and the wet open-mouth kisses. He would close his plush lips around your clit and suck like his life depended on it, which nearly pushed you over the edge in seconds. You were dripping down his chin, drops of your slick, and his saliva fell onto his tank top. Just filthy.

He ground deep into your cunt, shaking his head side to side feeling your body jolt every time his nose grazed your clit. “Gonna come for me, peaches?” he whined into you. “c’mon, you can do it. Give it to me, I need it… please. Please, baby, please.” Your fingers tightened their grip on his hair as you started to feel yourself falling apart, a breathless and silent “cumming” being mouthed by your wet lips.

“Yes. Yes,” he moaned into you like a mantra, coaxing you through your orgasm and helping you come down. San quickly let your body drop so that now your legs were wrapped around his waist. He carried you hurriedly through the living room, down the hall, and into his room, right across from Arin’s. His room was dark, the only light coming from his window when the sky lit up with lightning. 

He laid you on the edge of his bed, ripping off his tank top and lifting your legs up so your ankles rested on his shoulder. The view was gut-wrenching. His tall, rippling body. He looked so smooth, the ridges in his abs and his pecs so perfectly shadowed, it was like he was painted. His arms held your leg open on and his shoulder as he craned his neck to the side and looked you over like he wanted to snap you in half.

His legs hidden below the bed, but the sight of his hot, thick cock laying on your stomach nearly had you reeling. The pink tip twitched against your belly button as San did everything in his power not to start humping himself against your tummy.

One hand traced up your stomach lightly, around the peaks of your nipples, up your neck, and up against your lips. 

“Open.” San commanded, tapping his fingers against your cheek. You complied, feeling as he slipped his fingers in your mouth onto your tongue, pressing down.

 He leans forward, his chest grazing yours as he rests his forehead against yours. He guided his hips backward and angled the tip of his cock against your slick cunt.

“Shhh,” he whispered against your skin, pressing wet kisses on your ear. With the patience that San didn't wholeheartedly believe he had, he pushed himself inside of you. He pulled back to get a better look at him sliding in, but he paused, transfixed,

He stared at where you two connected, your cunt hugging him for dear life. He twitched inside of you before inching in more, opening his mouth to let out a low, perverted groan.

“She's takin’ me so well, sweetheart. Swallowing me up so good…” His fingers curled down into your mouth when he bottomed out inside of you. His tip is sitting heavy right against your spot. Your eyes rolled, and you could clench at the feeling of him twitching in you.

San winced and brought a hand to grip your right hip, his thumb spreading over your stomach to your belly button and kneading your tummy gently while he held your hips down against the bed, He bit his bottom lip, eyes flicking up to yours in desperation before moving back down and locking his gaze back on your pretty pussy,

“Fuck, dont move babydoll. I’ll cum…. Just.. mmmf… be still. Let me…” he stayed still for a second, before pulling his hips back and moaning out loud and the slick sound your pussy made. He slid back until his tip was the only thing inside of you, before rolling his hips and burying himself back in you deeeeepp.

Your whole body twitched and your hands came up to grip the wrist of his hand that was currently fucking your mouth with his fingers. Every roll of his hips had your whole body shuddering in pleasure, and still his eyes stayed glued at your cunt. He was mesmerized by the movement, watching his own abs roll as your stomach slightly bulged every time he pushed back inside. In and out, in and out…

San forced himself to rip his eyes away from where he pistoned inside of you. He lolled his head back and squeezed your waist even tighter, slipping his fingers out of your mouth and placing his hand on the other hip. He dragged your body up and down on his dick dropping his head back to stare at your body so pliant and willing for him.

The hands on your hips gripped you with iron strength, as San used your body as a fleshlight, fucking your cunt down on his cock, You took the sight before you in, San completely fucked out, pussydrunk.

His skin glistened from the heat of your bodies, stray strands of hair stuck to his forehead and covered his eyes, and the tip of his tongue poked past his lips as he focused completely on getting you where you needed to be. His abdomen rolled into yours so smoothly it's like he was dancing, his whole body shoving itself deeper into you, closer to your body.

He pushed your legs down so that your knees were bent and pressed against your chest, effectively folding you in half. His cock sank impossibly deeper inside of you, pulling a deep guttural groan from you.

Quickly, San pressed his lips back on yours, swallowing your cries with his mouth and licking soothing patterns into your mouth. He was so deep in your guts it felt like he was touching your ribcage, the way his body covered yours underneath him, his hands holding your legs up.

“Hush, baby, you’re being so loud. Be a good girl for me and hold it in, please, mkay? You can do it. Take it deeper, I know you can sweetpea...” He pistoned his cock into you, his head roughly kissing that spot deep in your tummy that had your back arching and your breathing staggering.

San’s bedroom was hot, and San’s body engulfed yours like you were all his. He rested his forehead against yours and his eyes roved down your body arriving back down to where his cock slipped in and out of you so smoothly. So deep and so determined. His eyes remained glued to the sight once again. His head swam with all the nasty things he wanted to tell you. To do to you.

Obsessed was an understatement, he adored watching himself slip in and out of you, the way you sucked him in so eagerly, the way your cunt dripped for him, a thin creamy ring around the base of his cock.

He locked eyes with you again, his hand squeezing around your throat, the spots of your peripheral vision slightly blinking out as his other hand came down and slowly rubbed slow circles on your clit.

San bit his bottom lip, watching as your face contorted into a cock drunk expression, not even caring to keep yourself quiet as he continued rubbing deliberate circles on your sensitive clit.

His hand cupped around your mouth and pressed down, his eyes boring into yours in a silent warning.

“What happened, baby? You were doing so well keeping it down.” He pouted mockingly at your pathetic attempts at silencing your moans. “Can’t take it after all, huh?” A particularly targeted thrust knocked the wind from your lungs for a second, nearly pushing you into your orgasm. “Answer me, peaches.”

But you were all fucked out, San was turning you inside out on his cock, and all you could think of was his name, and how badly you wanted him to fuck a baby into you.

His mouth lowered to your throat, kissing up your neck before landing by your ear.

“Can I cum inside you pretty baby please? Please?” He groaned, biting the shell of your ear lightly, continuing to fuck you into his mattress like he needed you to breathe.

He moved his hand away from your mouth, allowing you to answer.

“Im- ngh ah! On the p-pill. Oh, San, yes, yes, please inside, please!” Before you got too loud, San pressed his lips to yours, swallowing your moans in lingering, deep kisses. Slow and sloppy, his eyes rolled back as his eyelids fluttered shut.

“Yeah, c’mon beautiful...” He sighed into your mouth, slowing his hips and aiming directly for that stomach-wrenching spot inside of you, deliberately rolling his hips to repeatedly and heavily press against it. So quick it was unbelievable, your orgasm crept up your spine and curled around your stomach.

“Right there, right there, right there…” You prayed into his mouth, eyebrows knitted in concentration. San laughed, sucking on your bottom lip as he moved the hand on your clit up to press his entire palm on your lower stomach.

“Right here?” He tilted his head as his eyes remained glued to your face, watching every single little change in your expressions, enamored, with a sinister smile on his flushed face. “Cum for me sweetheart. Let me have it.”

He pushed down, the pressure becoming too much as your body spasms for a split second, before the orgasm crashed into you.

San kissed you even deeper, trying his hardest to muffle the sounds that spilled from your pretty, swollen lips, his groans falling down your throat and nearly drowning out your own. His whole body twitched, and he finally let go, his hands gripping you so tight as he came so deep in your guts you felt him in your chest.

“Taking it all so well.” He pulled from your lips, his hips rolling gently to work you through your high. When your legs finally stopped shaking, he slipped out of you with slick, vile slowness, his eyes stayed glued as he watched his cock slip out of you, moaning quietly to himself when his tip popped out and his cum began seeping out of your cunt.

His eyes flicked up to you, splayed in his sheets, hair messy, drooling, chest heaving with exertion. So pretty for him. He crawled up the bed, coaxing you to lift your head on the pillow. He chuckled at your fucked out state. “When you can find your feet again, Bambi, we can go take a shower. I’m sure this old man did a number on you.”

You glared at him, his expression nothing short of goofy, pulling a smile from you. “Stupid.” You mumbled. San smiled back, hands reached forward and gripped the sides of your face, pulling you into a slow, deep kiss. He pulled back with a wet pop.

“Smile all pretty like that and ‘m just gonna have to fuck you again, sweetpea.”

Your heart stuttered before it dropped, suddenly remembering the predicament you were actually in. 1 day down. 5 more to go. Just how fucked were you?

dad bod!seungcheol who just mere minutes later, is now a moaning mess as you suck him as if your life depends on it.

"fu-uck," he pants,  "slow down, babe." but the way he holds your head even tighter, says otherwise.

"can't!" you pant, taking him out of your mouth. "you get me all hot and bothered." he swears he could come right then and there and with that look in his eyes - he'd give you another child already.

"fuck me, baby." you moan, and he's trembling, barely holding onto the edge.

dad bod!seungcheol who grips your hips so hard, you're sure they're will be marks by the time you're done.

he wraps his arms around you, pushes you onto the wall and thrusts up into you - heavy balls smacking against your ass. the whines that comes out of your mouth is just pitiful.

he pinches your clit and your walls clench him tighter.

"fuck baby, you're so tight" he huffs. "you want to make me a dad again? huh?"

“cheol- slo- ugh. slow down” you pant as your legs shake every time his tip brushes your spot. the way his large, bulbous tip was brushing against your very inner walls had you dizzy. “-want more.”

"I'll give you exactly what you want, mama"

you moan so loud that the whole damn block might know exactly what he’s doing to you.

"not so loud, mama. baby'll wake up" seungcheol is grinning.

"mhmm, cheol." you breathe, gripping his biceps harder. "feels so good."

your fingers dig into his shoulders, velvet walls clenching around him as your body shook violently, thighs quaking as pleasure surged through your veins.

“fuck, cheol - ohh fuck ‘m gonna cum!” your legs feel like liquid - you are glad he's holding you - otherwise you'd be as good as putty.

“thaaat’s it, mama. come f’me.” he groaned, pushing in with a few more punishing thrusts before spilling inside your spasming cunt, thick, hot ropes of cum filling you to the brim.

he’s holding you flush against him, fingers pressing into your back, thumb tracing along your jaw. “god…you really are relentless,” he huffs, voice low, teasing but strained.

you grin, smirking up at him. “can you blame me?” his chest rises with a laugh. "hmm…nope,” he murmurs, lips grazing your temple. “not at all. and I think…I like it.” you trace over his shoulders, leaning closer, feeling the weight of him, the warmth, the lingering tension.

“good,” you whisper. “because I’m not stopping anytime soon.”

find more here | join the taglist

taglist: @codeinebelle @ateez-atiny380 @steamyjaehyun @sungday-16 @toplinehyunjin @gyuslilies

@gyuhao365 @smiileflower @mnstxmnbb @stillbeautyuniverse @afetepositivamente @chariseiswriting @Coupsbestleader

@Wonsivq @seungcheolsblackcard @gyublues @ybimoon @livelaughloveseventeen @imhereonlytoread

@minwonwoozi @armycarat2612 @adiknyamingyu @jaja-salute @vielerie @gyuguys

@assoulacaratassil @aaronwarners69thwife @chaseyui @blaycke @dinonara-ara

@markoplolo @sseolarity @ironyatitsfinest @coupsv @riddlerloveb0t @scoupscious @J3nnch3ls3a

Whether fortunately or unfortunately, you were the only one who presented as an omega. All your brothers and sisters were Alphas, which means the hammer really came down on you. Your mother made sure you knew how omegas were supposed to behave. Docile, submissive, made to cater to Alphas. It didn’t matter if the world was moving away from these stereotypes. In your household, your father’s word was law, and that meant you had to fall in line.

You cut them off the second you turned eighteen, not that they cared. The last words your mother ever said to you were that no Alpha would put up with your demands, and you would end up alone with no mate, no pups, no family.

Whatever. You don’t need a family. You would be fine on your own.

That was nearly a decade ago. You are a grown woman now, with a stable job, a cozy house, and good friends. Yes, after struggling through college with no one by your side, struggling to unravel how your family’s beliefs had screwed with your head, you even managed to make friends. Your job is a corporate, boring desk job, but the people there are very nice and accommodating. On your first day there, you met Boo Seungkwan, a fellow omega, who welcomed you as one of his own, metaphorically taking you under his wing.

Seungkwan is unlike any omega you have ever met in your life. He is loud, he takes up space, he gets annoyed with his Alpha friends, snaps at them, even calls them names sometimes. It had shocked you when you first saw him interact with Mingyu, who sat one desk over from you. And it shocked you even more when Mingyu never once shut Seungkwan down, instead engaging in petty banter with just as much zeal. You cannot imagine your father or your brothers tolerating Seungkwan’s tone, but Mingyu took it in stride.

They both fascinated you. And you fascinated them.

Seungkwan is a naturally affectionate person. When he tried to hug you for the first time, every hair on your body stood up, every muscle turning rigid with tension. You cannot explain how it felt, like someone was slashing at your inner omega with knives, and unintentionally, you snarled from deep within your subconscious. Seungkwan nearly flew off you, eyes wide, mouth dropped open. He held his hands up to placate you as you tried to regulate your breaths.

He never touched you again.

You can list off in your head the number of times someone has touched you. Your father, never. When you started walking properly as a toddler was the last time it was your mother. You had shaken hands with teachers at graduation, both high school and college. You had accidentally bumped into people on the subway. The doctor touched you when you went in for checkups, and that was hell too, making your heart pound painfully and your skin feel like it was on fire. You don’t know why you’re like that. You just are. Touching hurts. So you avoid it.

Choi Seungcheol knows exactly what it is.

He is interested in you from the second he first sees you walk into the office. You don’t work in the same team. He is in finance, you are in marketing, but he sees you often because you are on good terms with Seungkwan, and Seungkwan is friends with literally everyone. He likes watching you. You are quiet, calm but witty. You can keep up with someone as hyperactive as Seungkwan quite easily, and you like ribbing on Mingyu sometimes too, who you also seem to be close with. Seungcheol wonders if there is something going on there, but then he sees Seungkwan hug you, your visceral reaction to it, and it all clicks into place.

You’re a touch starved omega.

He has seen it once before when he was a teenager. It isn’t common, and often only happens with severe neglect. It makes no sense to him. You’re so beautiful, and the handful of times Seungcheol has been in the same vicinity as you, he has caught a whiff of your scent. Sweet like honey and flower petals. He cannot imagine that another Alpha has never been interested in you, or tried to court you. His heart aches at the thought of you being so alone for so long, and the Alpha in him wants to comfort you.

But he has to take this slow.

It is a random Thursday evening when Choi Seungcheol approaches you for the first time. You are standing outside the office building, fiddling with your phone, when a very distinctly alpha smell hits your nose. You turn your head to see him there, a mere few feet from you. He offers you a tiny smile.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” You recognise him. “Seungcheol?”

“That’s me.”

You’ve seen him around the office. You’re not sure what department, but he’s in the break room sometimes when you and Seungkwan are in there. His presence isn’t loud or overwhelming like alphas often are, but there’s a very distinct, confident air about him. He carries himself with the self assured stance of a man who is comfortable in his skin. You like people who know what they want out of life, like Seungkwan, like Seungcheol. But you never had any reason to speak to him before.

“Are you waiting for someone?” He asks.

You shake your head, holding up your phone. “Just looking for a cab. My car’s in the shop, so I’ve been commuting like this.”

He nods. “I can give you a ride home, if that’s okay?”

You hesitate a bit. You don’t want to impose on him, even though he is the one who offered. But you look down at the app again, at how you’ve been looking for something not crazy expensive for the last ten minutes. You weigh your options as he waits patiently for your answer, before reluctantly nodding yes.

Seungcheol’s car smells like him, and it’s the first time his scent hits your nose strongly enough for you to decipher the notes. Cedarwood and leather. It’s heavy, but not potent, grounded in earthly tones. Involuntarily, you feel yourself relax. That doesn’t happen often when you’re among alphas. The only other one you feel remotely okay with is Mingyu.

Seungcheol makes small talk with you as he drives. None of the questions are too invasive; why your car is in the shop, how your current project is going, what are your usual plans for after work. You talk about Seungkwan, the common link between you two, and Seungcheol praises Seungkwan’s people skills, his ability to hold attention during work meetings. You conclude that you like listening to him speak. His voice is deep, kind of brassy without being grating to the ear. It’s soft too, despite being so manly, and you wonder again how an alpha can have such a strong presence while simultaneously being so accommodating.

“Thank you.” You smile at him genuinely, when he stops before your apartment complex. He nods and smiles back, and your breath catches at the little dimple that dents his cheek. Every little thing adds to his allure. You can feel the omega in you stir, and you leave the car before you can dwell on what that means.

You haven’t had much luck with romance in the past. You presented later than most people your age, and by the time you came to terms with your upbringing, trying to break away from it, you were well into college. You know alphas looked at you, of course. They were alphas. Their biology meant that they would sniff out an omega. But it was never about you, specifically. Your aversion to touch worries you sometimes when it comes to finding a mate, but you are also averse to the very idea of a mate, especially after what your mother had always said. You have grown resentful of the idea that an alpha could be anything like the ones you grew up with. So you banish any thought of that from your mind.

Seungcheol starts showing up more and more in your life after that.

When he greets you in the break room and Seungkwan realizes you know each other, he insists that you all sit together, and that’s how you end up having lunch with him every day. He always offers a taste of his food, which you politely decline, insisting he should eat. A few days of this and he starts bringing a smaller box with him, saying you can eat from it without worrying about his portions. It catches you off guard, that he sets food aside for you, but something inside you preens at the thought, and your heart beats faster when you accept the food.

Seungcheol drives you home a few more times as well, saying he lives in the same direction anyway, and you can ride with him until your car is back from being fixed. You wrack your brain on how to repay all his kindness, and you are so caught up in it that Seungkwan has to sit you down and spell it out for you.

“He’s courting you, dumbass.” His eyes bore into you, and you blink hard a few times, trying to process his words.

“No he’s not.” You scowl. “He’s just being kind.”

“He’s cooking extra food and packing it every day for an unmated omega. He is offering to drive home an unmated omega every day.” Seungkwan rolls his eyes.

You bite your lip anxiously, because putting it like that makes it so much more obvious. Is Seungcheol courting you? You have never been courted before. No wonder you didn’t notice.

You fret over it for a few days. And it is on one of your rides home with him that Seungcheol finally speaks up.

“It might not be my place to say, but you seem a little worried.” His voice is low, cautious. “Is something bothering you?”

You have been looking for an opening to bring it up with him anyway, so you try not to think about how Seungcheol guessed that you’re worried and instead ask him what’s been on your mind.

“Seungkwan seems to believe that you are…. courting me.” You try to keep your voice level as you say it, fidgeting on your seat. When he doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, you feel your face burn hot.

“I’m sorry, I’m being ridiculous.” You shake your head, trying to wave off the annoyance that you now feel at your omega friend. Curse him and his crazy, outlandish suggestions.

“Why would it be ridiculous?” He says finally, eyes still on the road.

“What?”

“The thought of someone courting you shouldn’t be ridiculous.”

Your face is still burning hot. You don’t know what to say to him, how to even begin unraveling why you think this way. Even Seungkwan hasn’t had your trauma dumped on him yet.

Seungcheol’s car slows down in front of your building. He puts it into park and reaches the backseat for his satchel. From it, he removes a black, velvet box. He pulls it open, and you have to strangle a gasp in your mouth as you eye the glittering silver chain of the bracelet. It has a single charm on it, cherries, also silver and gleaming in the light.

“I wanted to gift this to you from the start.” He confesses. “But I figured it would be better to start smaller. Like with food.”

Your heart is beating fast, your eyes trained on the bracelet as he removes it from the box. You don’t dare look up at him. You’re scared. He doesn’t push for you to speak. Silence fills the small space between you two.

“Seungcheol, I-” You hesitate. “I have issues.”

He chuckles a bit, but not unkindly. “We will take this as slow as you want. You call the shots. I’m just asking for a chance to be the one to love you the way I think you deserve.”

You call the shots.

You look at him then, to find that his eyes are already on you. Dark and warm like the earth. It grounds you, and you can feel your shoulders loosen just a bit.

His fingers brush your skin just slightly as he clasps the bracelet on your wrist. Your omega stirs, restless, on guard. You don’t get a wink of sleep that night.

……………………….

Seungkwan is fawning all over your courting gift the next day, nearly beside himself. He’s flushed so red you are afraid he will explode. Mingyu is grinning ear to ear too, swaying in his chair.

“Couldn’t have been anyone better.” He claims. “Seungcheol’s alpha game is on a whole other level. If anyone can wow you, it’s him.”

You don’t have time to question his words, because Seungkwan starts shedding actual tears, and you have to try and console him without any physical contact. That doesn’t work, of course, so Mingyu steps in. It becomes a whole thing, and before you know it, the words slip from your mind.

Seungcheol comes to your desk and asks you to have lunch with him from then onwards. Every day, you sit with him, without Seungkwan now, and he plops a warm, packed lunch in front of you. When you try to protest, he waves it away in dismissal. The omega in you loves it, you realise, being fed like this. You’re sure there’s something deep rooted in your primal nature that approves of being brought food, especially by an alpha that has made it clear he is interested in you.

You are curious about Seungcheol, and he indulges you in every conversation. You learn that he is the youngest of many brothers, all alphas. He’s an athletic guy. He likes to play sports and travel. He has a small, but very loyal circle of friends. You also learn that he has liked you for a long time. It flatters you, even if you find that thought a bit unbelievable. Seungcheol asks that you tell him about yourself as well, your hobbies, your interests, and what you want for your future. He is an attentive listener, and he often lets you drone on and on without feeling any need to edit you. Your heart flutters at how his eyes soften when he looks at you. How he always maintains a distance. He never touches you, not even once. Every word of his feels like balm on your skin.

He asks you on your first date after courting you for a good two months. And he pulls out all the stops for it. It’s romantic, but not overly so that it would freak you out. You both talk yourselves hoarse about any and every topic under the sun, and by the time he walks you to your door, your entire body is buzzing with a warm, comfortable energy.

“You’re so different, Seungcheol.” You mumble as you lean against the doorframe. He hums inquisitively as he watches you.

“How so?”

“You never ask anything of me.” You watch him. “I don’t understand it.”

Seungcheol sighs, staring off into space for a brief moment.

“I think people get it so wrong.” His voice is so quiet that you almost have to strain to catch it. “Alphas are supposed to be this domineering, uncontrollable, all powerful authority. But that’s just not true. It’s the omegas who are the heart of it. Omegas who hold everything up. An alpha is just…. there to love and protect.”

He stares at his feet then, kicking them slightly.

“I know you struggle with…. touch.” He continues. “I also know that’s not your fault. You’ve been let down so many times that your omega just can’t trust again. I get it.”

When he looks up, his smile is soft, whimsical almost. The dim light of the lobby frames him, makes his brown hair look lighter. “I hope that you can trust me. Not immediately. Not with all of you. But maybe just a little bit.”

When your vision gets misty, you try to blink away the tears, but that only makes them fall past your eyeline. Seungcheol reaches up, ever so slowly, to brush one away with the pad of his thumb. When his skin meets yours, it tingles. Your fingers tremble. You try not to shudder. You close your eyes, and you let his barely there touch linger. He doesn’t pull away. Neither do you.

He holds your hand when he drives.

It starts with just linking his pinky with yours. But you try to take the brave step of allowing more, until your fingers are intertwining with his large, warm ones. His hand in yours feels like an anchor preventing you from floating away. Your omega preens, licks over old wounds, and you try not to think about how good the simple act of holding hands feels. You feel like a teenager, feeling so giddy over just holding hands, but when you see Seungcheol try to tamp down a smile, you let yourself feel this happiness.

He likes placing his hand on your lower back when you walk with him, a silent sign of him being there, someone you can rely on. The first time he scents you, it’s a very cautious brush of his wrist against yours. It makes something uncomfortable zip through your skin, and he doesn’t try it again. But then you miss it, the feeling of him making you just a little bit his, and you shyly brush your wrist over his by yourself during one movie night. He lets you, doesn’t rush, doesn’t stop you. He lets you run your wrist over his until you are satisfied that a part of you smells like him and a part of him smells like you.

Your heat hits the week after that.

It’s more painful this time, since your omega recognizes a specific alpha, knows that there is a potential partner out there who can give you a knot. You cry through it for one night and one day, but then you break, your mind muddled, and you call Seungcheol between broken sobs. His voice only makes you cry more as he tries to placate you over the phone. He knows your omega is being unreasonable. There’s a good chance that you won’t be able to handle it anyway. When he hangs up, you almost fall apart.

You hear knocking on your door an hour later, and your heat-addled brain is convinced that it’s Seungcheol. When you see a random stranger there, an omega at that, your face crumples.

“I come bearing gifts.” The man says with a grin, holding up a large canvas bag. Its familiar scent hits you hard, cedarwood and leather, and you snatch the bag from him. When you open it, you find heaps and heaps of Seungcheol’s clothing. Shirts, sweaters, flannels, and by the smell of them, it is anything he has worn in the last few days. You preen at the scent, shoving your nose into the cloth. It calms you down, you can feel your cramps give way for the first time in hours, and you look up gratefully at the stranger who saved you at a time like this.

His name is Jeonghan, and you remember him from Seungcheol’s stories. You recognise him too, from pictures you’ve seen, now that you aren’t delirious with pain. Jeonghan helps you get back in bed and helps arrange all of Seungcheol’s clothes in your nest. He cooks while you rest, making a good few portions of nutritious, easily heated up stew that will last you for the rest of your heat. He tells you how worried Seungcheol is, how badly he wishes he could be there, and that he hopes his scent can hold you over enough to get you through this. He ends up being right, because after three more slightly less painful nights, your heat finally breaks.

You’re embarrassed when you see Seungcheol next, but he doesn’t seem to mind at all. He assures you that it’s perfectly normal, and he is even flattered that your omega trusts him enough to want his help during your heat. He asks if the clothes helped, and you thank him for them.

“‘M not giving them back though.” You pout. He only laughs heartily.

“I will give you all of them, sweetheart. Just ask.”

Your heart flutters. Your omega purrs, satisfied.

You go over the events of the heat in the following days once it’s over, how badly you wanted him there, how difficult it was to live off his scent alone, especially as it kept fading from his clothes day after day. When he is sprawled on your couch the next Saturday, you finally ask him to scent you.

His eyes go wide, flitting between yours, as if trying to decipher your state of mind.

“Are you sure?” He sits up, forgetting the TV completely. “You have to think about it. Scenting is….. very intimate.”

You nod. “I have thought about it, Cheol. If I didn’t want it, I wouldn’t ask.”

He only hesitates for a moment longer, nodding. “Okay.”

You don’t know what to do with yourself as he turns to face you properly. Your heart is beating fast already, and you play with your fingers, trying to calm down. He must notice, because he reaches for your hands, gently holding them between his own.

“Deep breaths.” He instructs you. “Everything is okay.”

His voice has a deep, calming timbre to it, and you feel yourself soften slightly at his words. This is happening. You are trusting an alpha to invade your most sensitive sense. Despite how nervous you are, you think of the comfort it will bring.

“Can we do it in my nest?”

That catches him by surprise too. That’s two in one day, and if you weren’t so anxious, you would find it a bit comical. But he nods, and you notice how eager it is. Your heart squeezes a bit, and you realise that Seungcheol really has gone so long without acting on his very base instincts of touching and scenting you. His alpha must be restless beyond belief at this point.

Five minutes later, you’re lying on your bed, surrounded by a carefully organized mess of clothes that you’ve built into the perfect nest. You have lots of pieces of clothing in there, and you can see Seungcheol’s nose twitch a bit in annoyance when he catches the scent of another alpha, zeroing in on the wool scarf that once belonged to Mingyu. It’s common knowledge that an omega will create nests from the clothes of any person they find comfort in. You have things from Seungkwan in there too, but they are nothing compared to the huge piles of clothes that belong to Seungcheol, and that placates him a little. He knows that if and when he mates you, he is going to shred Mingyu’s scarf into a million pieces. Until then, you can have it.

He hovers over you, making sure he isn’t crowding you too much. You look more at home here, more at ease, and he wants to think it’s because you are surrounded by his scent. The alpha in his growls deep, satisfied, seeing who he already deems as his omega lying like this between clothes that belong to and smell like him. Your chest rises in a deep inhale before the air leaves you in a long whoosh.

He starts with leaning down to nuzzle against your cheek. You close your eyes, tilting your head to the side and up. You can practically feel how shaky his breath is as you present yourself to him like this, and you marvel at his restraint once again. Your hands clench into fists, and you feel a surge of need in you again.

“Cheolie.” You rasp.

“I’m here.” His breath hits your neck and you shiver at the feeling. Then he leans down to the junction between your neck and shoulder, just over your scent gland. He exhales on it carefully, and it’s warm against your skin. You bite your lower lip hard.

His tongue is tentative as it licks over the now swollen, needy gland. He keeps doing that for a couple of minutes, little kitten licks that relax your limbs the more he swipes over the area. He breathes out again, his breath mixing with the pheromones now coming off you in waves. He leans lower, closer to you, his elbows on either side of your head, before finally latching his lips over your skin to give in a soft suck.

Your back arches involuntarily, pleasure zipping through you. You know your scent is thickening with your arousal, and so is Seungcheol’s. The heady mix of both of them is making your head spin a bit. Seungcheol alternates between licks and sucks, making sure to cover the skin around your glands with his spit too. It feels deliciously territorial, a side of him you have experienced only fleetingly when he places a hand firmly on your waist, or when an alpha gets a bit too close and he stares them down. You wonder about it, about how badly he is holding himself back from pummeling another alpha into the ground when he gets too close. Mingyu has mentioned it a few times, that Seungcheol’s scent sours when he feels jealous. You want to see more of it. You want him to claim you as his.

It’s the first time you feel the need to be claimed, and it makes you whimper. Seungcheol hums into your neck.

“Feel good?” His voice has dropped a few octaves, and the low grunt makes something zip down your core. You barely managed a jerky nod.

“Yes, Alpha.”

The title makes him bristle pleasantly, and he doubles his efforts at making sure your scent glands are bathed in him. He keeps going for what feels like hours. When you walk into the office the next day, Seungkwan’s nose scrunches up, claiming he would confuse you with a mated omega if you reeked even a little bit more.

You get addicted to the feeling of Seungcheol scenting you. And he is more than happy to provide. Every morning, he grips your waist tight, lapping over your neck before you walk into work, making sure everyone in the building knows that you have an alpha you can call your own. He whispers to you how delicious you smell when your scent is mixed with his, how good it makes his alpha feel. You are shy about it still, but he loves it when you carefully and hesitantly kiss over his own scent glands. You don’t know why he would want your scent, but he claims he wants it just as bad, says he is as much yours as you are his.

By the time your next heat rolls around, you are sure you want Seungcheol to spend it with you.

He’s hesitant, naturally. You two have come a long way, but helping you in heat is basically the final step. The end of the line. There’s no coming back from something as intimate as that, and he worries. You know he is only looking out for you, but you also know yourself. There’s no way you can make it through this heat without him now. He could drench his clothes in buckets of his sweat and it still wouldn’t replace the feeling of his lips suckling on your glands, his hands running slowly over your waist. You need him there, and you tell him as much.

Seungcheol takes the preparation during your pre-heat very seriously. He asks for time off for both of you, essentially solidifying in the office what is going to happen. Seungkwan is shameless about it as he teases you, but you whack him upside the head with a thick folder and that shuts him up. Seungcheol shows up at your place with a large bag of his essentials. Anything he will need, some groceries he picked up along the way, and more of his clothes. At this point, you wonder if he has anything left in his closet at all.

He cooks and portions meals for you. He stashes protein bars, electrolyte packets, and a case of water bottles in your room. He doesn’t let you move, telling you to rest as much as you can because you’ll be needing your strength when the heat hits. His implication makes you flush, and you wonder how it will feel. You watch him putter around your room from where you lay in your nest, making sure everything is accessible to him. You’ve never taken a knot before. If you think back to before you met Seungcheol, the very thought of one would repulse you. But as you ponder about it now, him naked over you, skin to skin, shoving the swollen base of his cock inside you, you can’t help but think of how good it will feel.

Seungcheol, as in tune with you as he is, can smell the shift in your scent. He gives you a tiny smile, heavy with understanding.

“Are you still with me, omega?” He asks, leaning over to run a cool hand over the heated skin of your forehead. You hum. Your eyelids feel heavy, and it takes a lot of strength to keep them open. Seungcheol places his hand over your eyes to keep them closed.

“Try and sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

You listen to his words without a second thought. It seems your brain is already shutting down, depending on him to tell you what to do. Your nap is short lived and fitful, and when you wake up again, you are breathing heavily. Your shirt is already sticking to your back. Eyes only half open, vision unfocused, you paw at the shirt, trying to lift your heavy arms so you can pull it off.

“Here. Let me.” His voice cuts through the haze. You can feel his hands, still cooler than your body temperature, grip your shirt so he can tug it off you. Cool air hits you, and you wonder if he has turned the thermostat down to better cater to your needs.

“Better?”

You hum, turning towards the sound. You blink furiously until your vision is clear enough to see his head of thick brown hair to your right. You reach for him.

“Alpha.” Your voice trembles, and a painful cramp shoots through your lower stomach. You wince. Seungcheol is on top of you immediately, leaning down to bite gently on your scent gland, as if coaxing your omega to calm down. It listens, settling a bit.

“I’m here.” His weight on you feels heavenly. You can feel your muscles relax. But the cramp persists. “Tell me what you need.”

“I don’t-” You almost cry out as you feel the cramp sharpen. “I don’t know. Alpha, please-”

He shushes you, hands dipping into the waistband of your shorts until he is tugging them off. They stick to your crotch like skin, leaving wet strings as they part from you. Your inner thighs are already drenched. Seungcheol had noticed as you slept, but he didn’t want to wake you. The more you are turned on, the easier it will be to make you cum multiple times, and the quicker your heat will break in the long run.

He doesn’t wait before he reaches down, carefully rubbing the pads of his fingers over your swollen clit. You gasp and jerk at the feeling, and Seungcheol uses that moment to dip two fingers inside your desperately clenched opening. Your eyes nearly roll up at the feeling, and you don’t hold back your satisfied sigh. It encourages him to sink in to the last knuckle, feeling almost no resistance as your body stretches to accommodate him. All that courting, that dating, that scenting, it may have been slow as hell, near torture for him, but it seems that by now, every cell in your body is moulded to recognise him. He watches you arch into him, your legs spreading more, your pussy greedily sucking his fingers in, and he marvels at how pliant you are under him. You have truly given all of yourself to him, and he takes that as a great responsibility. You’re his omega, bite or not, and he will make sure you are heavy with his pups by the time you leave this nest.

Fuck. Maybe your heat is making him delirious too. His alpha is rearing to knot you. But he needs to prep you first.

You cum on his fingers twice before he even thinks about putting his cock in you. He coaxes each orgasm out of you with the expert curl of his fingers, his lips at your ear, whispering praises that seem to reverberate in your skull about how good you are, the perfect little omega for him, how much he loves your tiny little pussy, how much he loves taking care of you like this, how badly he wants to give you his knot. You’re sobbing by the time he is lining his tip against your entrance, cheeks drenched in heavy tears, still so turned on despite already cumming twice, and when he penetrates you, sinks into you in one fell swoop, you lock around him and cum hard for the third time. He groans, long and low, struggling against the feeling of your walls fluttering around him, watching you writhe under him.

“Good girl.” He coos, voice so gravelly and deep that you could cum again just hearing him talk. “So good for me. So perfect.”

You’re lightheaded, the air feels like cotton pressing into your skin. Your limbs have no power, and you are surprised you can even spread your legs for Seungcheol. Just his massive cock sinking into you is enough to drive you up the wall, and when he finally starts moving, you wail.

Seungcheol encourages you every step of the way. He coaxes you to talk through the rough pounding, even if your words are incoherent and choppy. You babble on about how good his cock feels, how badly you want his knot and his cum. Every sound from you seems to rile him up even more. When you keen, your omega whining long and high pitched in the depths of your chest, it only spurs him on. He fucks you through another orgasm before the base of his cock finally starts to swell, and at the promise of a knot, you writhe desperately.

He shoves himself inside you, knot swelling and locking inside your weeping pussy as he groans and finally cums, flooding your insides with his seed. Tingles run over your skin, through your very bones, as the desperate, primal creature inside you settles, finally sedated, finally happy. Seungcheol’s torso undulates over you, bare skin to bare skin, prolonging his own high so he can dump more of his load inside you. He is shiny with sweat and exertion, and you admire him as the fog in your head lifts. His hair falls over his eyes, and his lips are pretty pink from being bitten raw. You pull him down by his broad shoulders, nuzzling into his neck, nibbling on the skin. He hums and lets you stake your claim on him.

“Better?”

You nod, allowing him to pull you both so you are lying on your sides, waiting for the knot to go down. Your muscles feel muted, like someone flipped a switch inside you. By the time Seungcheol’s knot goes down, you are almost half asleep. He tries his best to make you stay awake long enough to down a bottle of water and a protein bar, promising you food when you wake up next, tucking you carefully into your nest.

The next few days are bliss.

You never associated heats with anything good before. They were always painful experiences, a flurry of cramps and dizziness, like a trial you had to get through. But Seungcheol flips the script around. He pumps you full whenever you ask for it, knot after knot, until you are so satisfied that you can’t think straight, can’t even speak right. You are covered, inside and out, with him. He litters your body with his marks, tongue and teeth working overtime to make sure that no part of you is unblemished. He feeds you during your lucid intervals, bathes you when he can, then fucks another knot into you until you are tuckered out again. When day four hits, your heat finally breaks, and you are more grateful for him than you are for yourself. You can’t imagine it’s easy to keep up with you.

“Are you kidding?” He grins, stretching out beside you in your nest. “You’re a dream. I couldn’t have asked for a better omega. You were so perfect for me, every single day of your heat.”

You flush at the praise. It somehow hits even harder than the words he whispered while driving his cock into you in the throes of heat. He nuzzles your neck, sighing and relaxing beside you, licking over your scent gland. There’s no need for that. You reek of him anyway. But you let him do it, dreaming of the day his teeth break the barrier of your skin there, making you his permanently.

You hope that day comes quicker.

And he’d be a liar if his head wasn’t full of the same thoughts. “We should get home,” he whispers, acting all innocent as if he wasn’t imagining you lying beneath him, his cum spilling out of you, makeup ruined and your eyes showing him just how much you loved every second of it. “I’m getting hungry.” 

You don’t question him even a bit, but maybe you should have. 

As soon as you walk into the house you can sense it, the shift. You turn around to look at your fiancee just to find him already watching you. His arm wraps around your waist and he pulls you closer, his lips crashing with yours. You melt into his touch, your hand roaming his back while he cups your cheek and tilts your head so he can deepen the kiss. “What’s,” another kiss, “this,” another, “about?” It’s clear he doesn’t want to pull away but he still does, still holding you close to him. “I just want to kiss my pretty girl.” 

If that’s not a good enough reason, you don’t know what is. You kiss him again, letting him pick you up and carry you into a different room. When he places you down again you’re on the kitchen island he begged so much for when you were picking houses together. “I said I was hungry, remember?” He kneels down before you can question him, making you yelp as he yanks down your pants. You certainly don’t complain, though, heat pilling in your lower stomach as you look at him. Cheol has always been handsome, one of the most attractive men you’ve ever met, but he always got even hotter when he got on his knees. 

“Baby,” you breathe out, your eyes following his every movement as he settles between your legs and drops your panties to your ankles. “Yes, my love?” He looks up at you, eyes sparkling with need, need for a taste of you. You shake your head, forgetting everything you wanted to say when you meet his eyes. All you can think about right now is how much you want him to eat you out already. 

His arms wrap around your thighs, spreading your legs open as he closes the space between you, wrapping his lips around your clit. You moan immediately, slowly grinding against him. He chuckles, moving lower and dipping his tongue between your folds. You grip his hair, holding him close as he devours you, acting as if you’re the first food he’s seen after starving for months. 

Your moans fill the room, your head thrown back and mouth hanging open as he continues what he does best, your orgasm building faster than you can comprehend. He doesn’t stop licking you clean even after you’ve come, only pulling back when he is satisfied. You know that’s not all though. Even if you’ve just finished, there’s a long night ahead of you if he started by eating you out. It’s always like this. 

“Let’s go to bed, baby,” you plead, wrapping your arms behind his neck and pulling him closer. He nods, picking you up again and moving you to a different room as if you’d weigh nothing. 

Your back hits the softness of your mattress and you immediately move back, watching him climb into the bed after you. He hovers over you, simply admiring you for a second before dropping his shirt over his head and throwing it to the side, leaving it somewhere on the floor. You smile, eyeing his muscles. You could admire his body for days if you could. “Spread, my love,” his command sends a wave of heat into your core and you do as he says, spreading your legs apart so he can see your pussy properly. “That’s right,” he mumbles, leaning down and kissing his way up from your thighs to your lips. 

He helps you get out of your shirt, pressing his palm on your stomach as soon as you reveal it. Your eyes widen at the action, finally connecting the dots. You wrap your legs round his waist and pull him closer so that his clothed cock presses against your core. “Want to fill me up? Fuck me so good a baby appears?” He groans at the image you just planted, pinning your legs up to your chest and dropping his pants faster than he’s ever done before. You gasp when he thrusts his tip in, realizing what you’ve caused with your words. You’ll be lucky if you can move tomorrow. 

“Is that what you’d like? Having my baby? Everyone knowing I filled you up?” You moan, nodding fiercely. “Please, Cheol.” 

“What is it, love? What do you need?” — “You,” you answer without hesitation, your eyes sparkling with want as you look at him. “Need you. Please.” 

A chuckle leaves his lips before he sinks his full length in, listening to your moans as he thrusts into you. You wrap your legs around his waist again, your heels digging into his lower back. “Yes, right there, baby,” you gasp, rocking your hips forward. His palm presses against your lower stomach again, feeling his cock in you as he speeds his movements, the thought of filling you up driving him wild. “I’m going to mark you mine forever, love. Stuff you up with a baby so everyone knows you’re taken.” 

You scream in agreement, soft cries leaving your lips as another orgasm builds up. You’re so close. You clench around him, the squeeze driving him over the edge, covering your walls in white. He continues fucking you even after he’s finished, making sure everything stays inside before pulling out. He rubs your clit and lets you ride out your orgasm while watching your pussy, groaning at the sight of you stuffed with his babies. 

And there’s only one thing on his mind when he kisses you—he’ll have to do this again tomorrow. 

That was exactly how people described Wonwoo and Jooyeon.

Wonwoo—everyone’s favorite honor student, top of the class, the quiet genius, and the admired captain of the campus soccer team—had finally confessed to Jooyeon, the girl with the dazzling smile and the kind of gentle charm that turned even the cafeteria line into a fairytale backdrop. She was perfect: admired by professors, adored by classmates, and untouchable—until suddenly, she wasn’t.

They were perfect, together. Almost annoyingly so.

When rumors started flying about the two of them dating, it felt like a minor campus apocalypse. Hearts cracked open all over—some dramatically, some in secret. The arts students wrote poetry about doomed love. The engineers, who claimed they didn’t care, were caught staring blankly at unfinished problem sets. It was the kind of heartbreak usually reserved for the day your favorite idol announces their wedding—except this was worse. Because Wonwoo and Jooyeon were real, tangible. They sat two rows ahead in lectures, they borrowed pens, they existed in the same airspace.

That’s how powerful they were. Campus royalty without ever needing crowns. Living proof that fate could be painfully unfair.

And the best part?

They didn’t care. Not even a little bit.

While students wiped tears off midterm notes and ranted in anonymous group chats, Wonwoo and Jooyeon strolled hand in hand through the chaos, oblivious. Unbothered. Untouched by the collective heartbreak they’d caused. Like everyone else was just background noise—necessary, but not worth noticing.

Now that was real power.

"You liked him first, didn’t you?"

Mingyu—vice captain, star striker, and the only person bold enough to say it out loud—stood beside you, his eyes locked on the pair of perfection across the field. Wonwoo and Jooyeon sat on the bench, leaning close, laughing quietly over a shared sandwich like they were the only two people in the universe. It was sweet. Or nauseating. Or maybe both.

You turned to Mingyu, a tight frown tugging at your lips.

“How do you know that?" you asked, suddenly wary. That little secret had been buried so deep between dusty team rosters and forgotten water bottles, you’d nearly convinced yourself it never happened.

Mingyu—whose reputation for guarding secrets was about as sturdy as wet tissue—didn’t even flinch.

"Jooyeon told me," he mumbled, eyes still locked on the golden couple across the field, like he was watching a live drama he’d never auditioned for but somehow had a supporting role in anyway.

Your brows knitted together. "Jooyeon told you? You two talk?"

It wasn’t jealousy that tugged at your chest; it was the sour taste of confusion. Since when did your best friend chat up soccer boys? Especially ones like Mingyu—loud, impossible to ignore, and definitely not her usual type of confidant. Actually, scratch that. Since when did Jooyeon do anything exactly how you imagined anymore?

She was dating Wonwoo now. Your Wonwoo—well, the Wonwoo you had once quietly, hopefully, almost had. And the worst part was the quiet question now scratching at the back of your mind: Did you ever really know her?

A flicker of doubt you didn’t want to feel whispered louder than your own thoughts: Should this friendship even continue?

Mingyu finally turned to look at you. His eyes weren’t teasing for once—just tired. Almost too honest.

"She talked about you. Got your man. And you still can’t bring yourself to hate her, can you?"

You exhaled, a shaky sigh that almost covered the small, dry laugh that caught in Mingyu’s throat. He knew. He was right, and that was the worst part.

You liked Wonwoo first. You liked him so carefully—piece by piece, a shy laugh here, a passing brush of shoulders there. But Jooyeon had reached out faster. And despite everything—despite the ache that sometimes flared up when you saw them share a scarf in winter or sneak a drink from the same bottle—you still couldn’t bring yourself to hate her. She was Jooyeon. Sweet. Gentle. Thoughtful in ways that made it hard to hold grudges.

"That’s what that guy is to me too," Mingyu said suddenly, voice lower, words heavier.

You blinked, thrown off. “Wait... you mean you—”

He nodded, tapping two fingers together like connecting puzzle pieces, then pointing them at the couple.

"We were close. Really close. I think... maybe I got them close too. Funny, huh?"

Not funny at all.

More like cruel. A twisted cosmic joke, played on both of you without a warning or a punchline.

"Welcome to the adult world, I guess?" you said, mustering a hand gesture that looked bold enough to pass for confidence, even though your voice cracked just enough to betray you.

Mingyu snorted, his laugh a quiet, almost disbelieving sound. "You’re funny, Y/n. Didn’t know you were funny."

You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t fight the small smile that tugged at your lips. He was an idiot, but maybe in this moment, he was your idiot.

Your eyes flicked to your watch—five minutes of break left. Sighing, you pushed yourself up from the bench and turned to stand in front of Kim Mingyu—star striker, vice captain, and the only guy on this field who could make a heartbreak conversation sound like a sitcom script.

"Well, Mingyu..." you began, voice teasing, theatrically dramatic, hoping it would cover up the dull sting you still felt somewhere behind your ribs.

But when your eyes met his, there was no secret spark. No skipped heartbeat. No accidental daydream about what if.

Just Kim Mingyu. The messy striker. The man-child who forgot his cleats and blamed the team manager—aka you—every time he lost his water bottle.

"Being funny doesn’t get you a man," you said with a wry, lopsided grin, turning back toward the field where the rest of the team was half-heartedly kicking balls around.

Then, loud enough for every sulking player to hear: "Five minutes left, guys! Let’s not waste it complaining about your love lives, yeah?"

And with that, you left Mingyu laughing behind you—your heartbreak still tucked safely where no one could see it, except maybe him, Kim Mingyu, the boy whose heartbreak matched yours.

*

Mingyu was seething. The kind of anger that sat hot in his chest and prickled down his spine like static under his skin. He’d caught the whispers earlier that day—someone had roughed up Hansol. Choi Hansol: the youngest on the team, the quiet one who bowed lower than everyone else, ran harder than everyone else, and never once complained.

Hansol had shown up late to practice, eyes downcast, a fresh bruise blooming across his left cheekbone like an ugly signature left behind by a coward. The moment he stepped onto the field, the air shifted. Conversations sputtered and died. Laughter dissolved mid-breath. His hyungs just watched—some with guilt, some with fear, none brave enough to speak first.

Mingyu clenched his jaw so tight his teeth ached. Everyone knew. Everyone saw. Including Wonwoo, who caught Mingyu’s glare from across the pitch. Mingyu jerked his chin—wait.

Wonwoo held his gaze for a heartbeat, then gave a stiff nod, stepping forward to blow the whistle and herd the team into warm-ups.

But Mingyu wasn’t warming up. He was burning.

He’d heard the so-called reason behind the bruise. Hansol had aced the tryouts—first-year rookie, playing with the calm confidence of someone born for the national stage. But a few seniors in his department didn’t like that. They spat rumors—called him a teacher’s pet, claimed he must’ve bribed someone, that he’d stolen a spot they didn’t have the guts to fight for themselves.

It didn’t matter that none of it was true.

Jealousy never needed proof. Just a soft target.

Mingyu’s fists curled at his sides, nails biting his palm as he took a step forward—ready to tear through anyone stupid enough to lay a finger on Hansol again—when your voice slipped through the tense quiet like a drop of cool water on hot iron.

"What happened to your face?"

Mingyu froze mid-step, catching his breath—not from the run, but from the way your tone sliced clean through the heavy silence. Not angry. Not scolding. Just... raw concern. So gentle it stung.

Hansol startled at your question, but you didn’t give him a chance to hide. You dropped the bottle you’d been carrying, letting it roll forgotten into the grass as you stepped closer to him. Carefully, like he might break if you moved too fast, you lifted a hand—small, delicate compared to the ugly bruise marring his cheek. Your thumb brushed feather-light near the swelling, your brows knitting together.

"Did you get into a fight? Who did this?" you asked, voice low but steady, shielding him from the curious stares gathering behind you.

Hansol didn’t answer. Not with words, anyway. His gaze flickered to the ground. Shoulders slightly hunched. Silence clung to him like sweat.

You glanced back at Mingyu, confused, worried, and still unaware—still innocent in all this.

And Mingyu? He was no longer boiling. He was ready.

After practice ended, the sun dipped low over the field, painting the sky in streaks of gold and bruised lilac. The rest of the team was already trickling off toward the showers, their laughter echoing faintly, cleats scraping against pavement.

Hansol lingered, sitting alone on the edge of the field with his knees pulled up, arms resting over them, eyes fixed somewhere distant. The bruise on his cheek had darkened under the fading sunlight, a quiet reminder of the things unsaid.

Mingyu tossed a towel over his shoulder and walked up to him with a casual nod.

"Wanna get a drink?"

Hansol blinked, as if surprised someone was still there. He nodded after a beat, not saying much, just rising with that same quiet energy, brushing dirt from his joggers.

They didn’t talk on the walk to the vending machines behind the gym building. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable—it was patient. Mingyu slid a can of cold peach soda across the metal bench toward Hansol, then popped open his own bottle.

He didn’t press. Mingyu wasn’t the type to pry. Not when someone was already carrying something heavy. He just sat beside the younger, sipping quietly, watching the way Hansol rolled the can between his palms like it was something fragile.

After a few minutes, Hansol finally spoke.

"It was just some seniors from my major."

His voice was calm, but Mingyu heard the exhaustion buried beneath it.

"They said I made the team too easily. That I must’ve known someone, or that Coach just wanted a rookie for the headlines." Hansol paused, eyes low. "One of them was someone I used to look up to."

Mingyu’s grip on his bottle tightened. He turned his body slightly toward Hansol, face serious.

"Is this the first time?"

Hansol shook his head slowly. "Second. The first time was just pushing. This time… they made it count, I guess."

Mingyu exhaled sharply, the kind of breath people let out when they’re trying not to explode. His voice dropped, firm and low.

"You should’ve told someone. Told me."

Hansol gave a faint, apologetic shrug. "I didn’t want to cause trouble. Or seem weak."

"You’re not weak," Mingyu said immediately, not letting that sit. "You’re one of the best rookies we’ve had in years. That’s why they’re coming after you. They’re threatened. That’s not your fault."

Hansol didn’t reply, but the corner of his mouth twitched—half gratitude, half relief.

Mingyu leaned back on his palms, eyes scanning the horizon.

"I don’t care how quiet you are, Hansol. You’re part of this team. Anyone who messes with you, messes with me."

Hansol glanced at him, and for the first time all day, his shoulders eased just a little.

"You’re kind of intense, hyung."

Mingyu laughed under his breath. "Yeah, well. Get used to it."

They sat there a bit longer in the dimming light, the silence between them no longer heavy, but healing.

The next practice session started like any other—humid, loud, and laced with the smell of grass and sweat. But the usual routine screeched to a halt when everyone’s attention turned to the sideline.

There they were. Three students—three fully grown college boys—on their knees, hands raised to the sky like they were repenting for their sins in a K-drama courtroom. It was a sight so surreal that even the most focused players stopped mid-warm-up.

Mingyu had just jogged onto the field after changing into his jersey, towel slung around his neck, when he froze mid-step. His brows furrowed, mouth parting slightly in disbelief.

“What the hell—” he mumbled, blinking hard as if that might change the scene.

Because right in front of the three kneeling boys was you. Standing with your arms firmly planted on your hips, your expression somewhere between disappointed mother and vengeful war general. You weren’t yelling, you weren’t even raising your voice, but the sheer authority in your posture could’ve summoned lightning. It was terrifyingly impressive.

It also reminded Mingyu of that one time he shattered his mother’s favorite vase and she made him kneel in front of her altar for three hours with soy sauce packets on his shoulders.

“What's going on?” Mingyu asked Jun, who was stretching nearby but clearly more interested in the live drama.

“Oh, turns out those guys were the ones who bullied Hansol,” Jun said, trying not to sound too gleeful. “And get this—they’re her juniors from Dojang.”

Mingyu blinked. “Dojang?”

“Y’know. Her martial arts elective thing?” Seokmin waved a hand. “Apparently, she’s some kind of assistant there. Has like, real authority. Scary, right?”

Mingyu’s mouth fell open a little wider. “So she’s… punishing them? Right here? On our field?”

“Yup. Campus-wide humiliation. Full exposure. Public repentance. She didn’t even ask Coach.”

As if on cue, Coach walked by, gave the scene a short glance, and muttered, “About time someone taught those brats a lesson,” before continuing on.

Mingyu watched as you spoke to the kneeling trio, voice calm but your words sharp enough to cut through steel. One of them visibly flinched. Another looked like he was trying not to cry.

You turned slightly, caught Mingyu watching, and raised an eyebrow as if to say, What? This is the bare minimum.

Mingyu chuckled under his breath, utterly impressed. “She’s terrifying,” he murmured.

“Hot, though,” Jun added thoughtfully.

“Very,” Mingyu agreed.

Behind them, Hansol jogged onto the field, bruise healing, eyes wide in disbelief as he spotted the trio groveling on the grass.

“Uh… what happened?” he asked.

“You got a guardian angel, kid,” Mingyu said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “And she does martial arts.”

*

"You don't have to do that. It could affect the team’s reputation. I hope you won’t do something like that again."

Wonwoo’s voice was calm but firm, carrying a weight that made it echo sharper than intended. Mingyu paused mid-step, hand resting on the locker room door, when he caught the conversation happening just around the corner—behind one of the pillars. Quietly, he leaned back, staying out of sight.

You were standing there, posture straight, eyes locked with Wonwoo’s. You didn’t look guilty. You didn’t even look surprised. Just… unreadable.

Mingyu frowned. He knew exactly what this was about—your dramatic punishment of Hansol’s bullies on the field yesterday. Most people had secretly loved it. But of course, Captain Jeon Perfect had something to say.

It took Mingyu back to six months ago.

That was when Soonyoung, the team’s original manager and chaotic soul of the locker room, suddenly decided to enlist early. The team was left scrambling. Wonwoo, ever the composed captain, immediately started looking for a replacement. It didn’t take long for a name to surface—Ji Y/n. A management major who had impressed nearly everyone during last year’s basketball league with her sharp organization skills and no-nonsense attitude.

Mingyu remembered the day you walked onto the field for the first time. Confident but not cocky. Observant. Calm. The kind of calm that didn’t need to shout to be heard. You’d greeted the team with a small smile and a clipboard. Within the first week, you knew everyone’s stats, schedules, and even preferred energy drink flavors.

You weren’t just efficient—you were unshakable.

Mingyu stayed hidden behind the pillar, fingers tightening around the edge of the locker room doorway. His jaw clenched. He wasn't supposed to be eavesdropping—but this felt personal.

Something about the way Wonwoo said it—calm, calculated, like you were an overstepping student causing problems instead of someone protecting one of their own—made something twist inside Mingyu’s chest.

You didn’t deserve that. Not after everything you’d done for the team.

He took a half-step forward, ready to interrupt. To say something. To defend you, even if it meant clashing with his own captain.

But then you spoke. And what you said stopped him cold.

“So that’s it?” you said, arms still folded, voice sharp and low like the calm before a storm. “You don’t have to do that, huh?”

Wonwoo blinked, caught slightly off-guard.

You took a step closer—not threatening, but deliberate. “It’s funny. I actually thought it was your job to protect your team. To set the tone. To make sure people who wear that jersey feel safe wearing it.”

Wonwoo didn’t say anything. He just stood there, still and stoic, like he always did. Like silence was his shield.

You shook your head slowly, a humorless smile tugging the corner of your mouth. “I learned that from you. Back when I thought you were someone who stood up for people. But I guess people change.”

It landed with a weight that echoed louder than any shouting ever could.

Behind the pillar, Mingyu blinked.

He’d expected you to look guilty. To apologize. To fold under Wonwoo’s quiet pressure like most did. But instead, you pushed back—with facts, with clarity, and with something that sounded a lot like disappointment.

And Mingyu felt it too. The disappointment. Not just in Wonwoo—but in how things were shifting. How the captain he once admired was starting to feel... distant. Less human.

He looked down, then back toward you. You weren’t unshakable after all. You were just brave. Braver than most. And somehow, that made Mingyu’s chest feel even tighter.

*

Seungkwan clenched his teeth, arms trembling under his weight as the push-up count passed a number he couldn’t even register anymore. One hundred something-something—who even knew? All he could focus on was the sound of your voice echoing in his head like a curse.

“They bullied someone, Dad. Can you believe that?”

Your tone had been casual, almost chipper, as if you were reporting someone for stealing your lunch instead of setting off a full-blown punishment session. Unfortunately, the “Dad” in question was none other than Coach Ji—your father, Dojang’s notorious Taekwondo instructor and a man who believed character was built with sweat, tears, and shoulder pain.

Seokmin wheezed through a trembling breath, his voice cracking as he panted, “Please… spare us…”

“One hundred seventy-six!” your father shouted with military precision, making all three boys groan. Even Seokmin’s puppy eyes weren’t enough to melt that man’s spine of steel.

Regret painted itself clearly on their sweat-soaked faces, and for a moment—just a moment—your father paused.

“If I ever hear you used the Taekwondo I taught you here for nonsense like bullying,” he said, voice cold and low, “I’ll do worse than this. I’ll drag you to hell and back with my own hands.”

You folded your arms and gave a proud nod toward your juniors—Seungkwan, Seokmin, and poor misunderstood Chan. Justice had been served.

Chan, breathless and on the verge of a cramp, muttered between reps, “This is so unfair… it was just a misunderstanding—”

Your glare snapped to him like a laser beam. Sharp. Icy. Devastating.

Chan shrank like a kicked puppy, immediately silencing his protests. If looks could kill, yours would’ve buried him six feet under the gym mat. And he knew it.

Seungkwan, still stuck in a push-up, whispered under his breath, “Remind me never to get on her bad side again…”

After the chaos had settled and the boys were sprawled like starfish across the training mats, groaning and swearing they’d never bully a soul again, you walked over to your father, grabbing your bag slung by the door.

“Staying for dinner?” he asked, wiping sweat from his brow with the edge of his towel. His tone was casual, but you could hear the hope tucked in between the syllables. “Or… maybe even the night?”

You paused at the threshold, fingers tightening slightly around the strap. For a second, the thought tempted you—home-cooked food, your old bed, the quiet comfort of familiarity—but then you shook your head gently.

“I’ll sleep in the dorm tonight,” you said with a soft smile. “Got early practice tomorrow.”

Your father nodded, his expression unreadable for a beat. Then he gave you a small, approving pat on the shoulder. “You did good today.”

You gave him a teasing grin. “I learned from the best, remember?”

“Damn right you did,” he muttered, already turning back toward the whining trio on the mats. “And tell Wonwoo he still owes me for breaking that punching bag last semester.”

Your steps faltered—just slightly.

You didn’t respond. Just gave him a soft, practiced smile over your shoulder. “Goodnight, Dad.”

As you stepped out into the night air, your chest felt just a little heavier than before—but your stride didn’t slow.

You could almost hear Wonwoo in your memory, sitting cross-legged at Gojo matches, calling your name with that calm voice that still made your pulse skip.

“I enjoyed the match. You were amazing.”

But now he sat beside someone else.

And you had training in the morning.

*

You didn’t know when the rumor began—whether it slipped from one careless mouth or was born from silent stares—but by morning, it had grown teeth. You felt it the moment you stepped out of your dorm. The atmosphere changed. Eyes lingered longer. Conversations halted mid-sentence whenever you passed by, only to pick up again with an extra edge of hushed curiosity.

They weren’t just whispering your name.

They were branding it.

“She's her roommate. Can you imagine that? Her own roommate.”

“Exactly. Who does that to a friend?”

“No wonder Jooyeon’s been staying in a single room. She probably can’t bear the sight of her anymore.”

Their voices floated behind your back like shadows. And you—staring at the sidewalk as if it could swallow you whole—just kept walking.

You didn’t even understand what they thought you had done. You and Jooyeon had been friends since your first year. Laughed over late-night ramen, shared beds during thunderstorms, cried over grades, boys, and homesickness. You lived under the same roof. You trusted her.

But now, Jooyeon had Wonwoo. And you… had whispers. And maybe a group of soccer boys with the emotional maturity of overgrown toddlers.

When you finally reached the field, the sounds of morning practice were a strange kind of comfort. Cleats against turf, goalposts rattling, laughter too loud to be real. Your body moved on autopilot—crossing the track, clipboard in hand, pretending nothing was wrong.

Then came Jeonghan.

“Celebrity, aren’t you?” he called out from the grass, his tone half-amused, half-insincere. He was warming up with slow, deliberate stretches, whistling through his teeth with that infuriating smirk he always wore when he knew he’d struck a nerve.

You looked at him, deadpan. The sun was just rising above the field, casting long shadows across the green, but your patience was already running on fumes.

Without breaking stride, you turned to the bench where the rest of the team huddled like guilty children.

“If any of you start acting like him,” you said, pointing to Jeonghan, “you’ll be getting your own drinks starting from today.”

That did the trick.

Heads snapped up. A chorus of obedient nods followed. Someone even stood up straighter, as if fearing the wrath of your clipboard more than their own coach.

You exhaled slowly, turning away.

The team was moving. The world hadn’t ended. But something had shifted. You just didn’t know yet what it would cost.

“What’s wrong with you and Jooyeon? Finally broke the friendship?”

Mingyu’s voice landed behind you in a low, casual whisper that still managed to startle you.

You pressed a hand to your chest, instinctively clutching at the pounding beneath your ribs.

“Knock before you speak!” you shot back, your words laced with annoyance—but your voice didn’t hide the jolt he gave you.

Mingyu chuckled, completely unbothered. “There’s no door here.”

You turned to look at him, eyebrows scrunched, arms crossing without a second thought. There was something different in his tone today—too nosy, too curious. He was just Mingyu, the striker, the vice captain, the guy who always forgot where his water bottle was and laughed too loudly during warm-ups. You didn’t remember ever talking about personal life with him. Not deeply, anyway. Not like this.

“What’s your deal?” you asked, staring at him as if he were a puzzle you hadn’t realized was missing a few pieces. “Since when do you care about me and Jooyeon?”

He tilted his head, lips tugging into that crooked half-smile he wore when he didn’t want to answer directly. “I don’t,” he said easily. “But the two of you used to move like one person. Even Jihoon noticed. That’s saying something.”

You rolled your eyes, sighing. The last thing you needed was to explain yourself to someone who wasn't even supposed to care.

“If it’s about Jooyeon moving out, she chose to,” you said, voice steady but laced with something unspoken. “She likes to sleep in the cold, and I need to be wrapped like a human dumpling. She felt bad for turning the room into a freezer, so she offered to move. That’s all.”

You expected silence, or maybe a nod. But instead, Mingyu chuckled, shaking his head as if amused by something only he understood.

“So kind and beautiful. Unfair, right?”

His words poked something inside you—a little too familiar, a little too careless.

You scoffed, looking away from his eyes that seemed a bit too observant today.

“Not to me,” you muttered under your breath, letting the words fall out before you could dress them up.

And just like that, the coach’s whistle pierced the moment, snapping the tension like a rubber band.

Practice was starting.

But the air hadn’t cleared.

Not yet.

*

Mingyu sat on the park bench, the late noon sun filtering through the trees as he munched half-heartedly on a piece of bread he brought along. Jooyeon had texted him earlier, asking if they could talk. He didn’t want to meet at a café where eyes and ears multiplied, or the cafeteria that buzzed with idle gossip. Too many people already had too many things to say about her and Wonwoo. So he replied, “Let’s meet in the park near the field. Make sure Wonwoo knows too.”

Jooyeon arrived on time, tucking her hair behind her ear as she sat across from him, her fingers fiddling with the edge of her sleeve. Her presence was quieter than usual, almost careful.

“I heard you moved out of your room,” Mingyu said, biting into the crust of his bread like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. He didn’t want to just sit and listen. Multitasking helped him stay unreadable.

Jooyeon gave a small nod. “Yeah... How did you know?”

“Y/n told me,” he answered casually, watching her for a reaction. “Actually... Everyone's been talking about it.”

Jooyeon let out a long sigh and leaned back. “I don’t get why people always jump to conclusions. I feel bad for Y/n... she doesn’t deserve to be talked about like that.”

Mingyu smirked. He had something to say, something bitter and sharp, but he swallowed it like dry bread.

“I wanted to apologize,” Jooyeon said, her voice softening. She shifted in her seat, clearly uncomfortable. “I know we’ve been getting closer these past few months. I really enjoyed our time together. But... me and Wonwoo... it just happened. We clicked. And—”

“You don’t have to explain,” Mingyu cut her off, shaking his head. “I get it. He’s a better man, right?”

The question hit harder than he meant it to. Jooyeon blinked, stunned, her lips parting—ready to answer, but no words came. So she just sat there, silent, and that said enough.

Mingyu stood up, brushing crumbs off his hands like he was dusting the whole conversation away. He’d heard what he needed to hear. And apparently, so had she.

But before he could walk away completely, his steps paused.

He glanced back over his shoulder, voice light but laced with something deeper. “Have you talked to your friend, Y/n? I’m not the only one who feels cheated here.”

He chuckled as if it was a joke, but the weight of his words lingered in the air. Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked off, sighing under his breath.

What am I even doing?

Mingyu was on his way home when a familiar silhouette caught his eye—someone sitting at a corner table by the café window, bathed in the warm glow of yellow light. A small smile crept onto his face before he even realized it. Without much thought, his feet turned, almost on instinct, and led him inside the cozy café.

He ordered an Americano and a slice of dessert, something sweet to reward himself after his workout. Once his drink was ready, he walked over to your table, plopping down into the seat across from you with casual confidence.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he said, grinning.

You looked up from your laptop, your brows immediately furrowing. “Why are you here?”

Mingyu shrugged and motioned to the cup in his hand. “Drinking coffee?”

But your frown only deepened. “You’ve got a physical test tomorrow morning. You’re supposed to be resting, not wandering around cafés.”

He chuckled, clearly amused by your concern. “I just got back from the gym. Can’t I breathe a little? I’ve earned this moment.”

Your attention shifted back to your laptop, though your tone softened slightly. “Still. You need all the energy you can get.”

Mingyu leaned forward slightly, trying to sneak a glance at your screen. He squinted but couldn’t make out what you were working on. “Study or work?”

“Work,” you replied. “My father’s planning to open new membership slots for his Taekwondo dojang.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Right—yes! I heard you used to be an athlete. Were those three boys actually your juniors?”

You nodded, a hint of guilt flashing across your face. “Yeah. And they got punished by my father because of me. I feel bad... Should I bring them coffee and drop by? They’re probably still practicing until nine.”

Mingyu raised his brows, impressed. “The dojang?”

“Yep. I’ll order something for them now,” you said as you stood and made your way toward the counter.

Mingyu watched you from his seat, his eyes following the way you talked to the café staff, polite and purposeful. Then he glanced at his own watch, mentally calculating. If he left by nine, he’d be home by nine-thirty. In bed by ten. Still doable.

The moment you returned to the table with a small tray of drinks, he looked up. “Can I come with you?”

You shot him a look. “No.”

His face fell. “Why not?”

“You have a test tomorrow,” you reminded him flatly.

“I’ll head straight home after,” he said, pouting now like a boy trying to convince his mom. “C’mon, lemme tag along.”

You exhaled slowly, weighing the options in your head.

*

By the time you arrived at the dojang, the evening chill had settled into your sleeves. The familiar scent of padded floors and sweat greeted you as you stepped in, a small paper bag of drinks crinkling in your hand. Mingyu followed closely behind, and the moment he saw Seungkwan and Chan sparring in the center, he plopped down onto the wooden bench like a big dog being told to sit and stay—back straight, eyes wide, tail invisible but clearly wagging in spirit.

Your father, standing near the entrance to the office, turned when he heard footsteps. His gaze immediately found Mingyu. You could already sense the silent judgment forming.

“Golden retriever?” he asked with a raised brow, folding his arms across his chest.

You rolled your eyes, not even pretending to hide your sigh. “He’s a team member. He wanted to come.”

“Wonwoo?”

“No, not Wonwoo,” you said, voice flat, your eyes flicking to Mingyu who was now bobbing his head to the rhythm of sparring footsteps, completely immersed. “Just him.”

Your father hummed, skeptical but not unkind. “He looks like the type who'd forget to tie his belt before a match.”

“He’s not that bad.”

“He’s that tall.”

You chuckled under your breath. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Your father looked at you, then at Mingyu again, watching as he reached out to fist-bump Chan after a clean takedown. “He’s loud.”

You handed him the drinks with a shake of your head. “You’re impossible.”

“He likes you?”

You froze mid-step. “What?”

“He looks at you like you’re the last bowl of rice in the house.”

You whipped your head toward Mingyu. He had just looked up, catching your stare, and waved enthusiastically, mouthing, “They’re so cool!”

You muttered, “He’s just friendly.”

Your father said nothing, only grunted as he took a sip of coffee.

You weren’t sure who you were trying to convince more—your father or yourself.

Mingyu, still sitting on the bench like an obedient retriever, finally seemed to notice that the man by your side—who looked a little too stern and a little too observant—hadn’t taken his eyes off him. So, with the reflex of someone raised well and maybe scared well too, Mingyu stood up and gave a small bow.

“Hello, sir. I’m Kim Mingyu. I’m—uh, on the same team as Y/n. Vice captain.” His voice was lower than usual, respectful but slightly nervous.

Your father raised a brow, clearly unimpressed by titles. “Kim Mingyu? I’ve heard your name. You’re the tall one who talks too much.”

Mingyu blinked, a little stunned but smiled anyway, rubbing the back of his neck. “I guess that’s me, sir.”

Your father didn’t smile back. He just nodded slowly, eyes scanning Mingyu like he was inspecting a weapon. “You come here often?”

“No, sir. First time. I just wanted to see the place Y/n grew up in,” Mingyu said honestly.

That made your father pause. His gaze shifted to you, then back to Mingyu. “You close?”

You coughed before Mingyu could answer. “He’s just curious.”

But Mingyu, being Mingyu, smiled wide and said, “I’m trying to be.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. Your father stared at him for a long, long second, then walked off muttering, “Tall. Talks too much. No belts allowed next time.”

Mingyu turned to you, whispering, “That went well, right?”

“No.”

He grinned, teeth and all. “I think he likes me.”

You rolled your eyes. “You think everyone likes you.”

“I mean—look at me.”

“Exactly. That’s the problem.”

Mingyu laughed as he sat back down. Across the room, your father watched again, this time sipping his coffee slower, the judgment in his eyes replaced with something more unreadable.

Like curiosity.

The morning sun was already glaring above the field by the time the physical test ended. Your shirt clung to your back from sweat and the heat, but you stayed a little longer to speak with the coach about the upcoming league schedule. Your mind was still replaying details from that meeting as you slung your bag over your shoulder, ready to head out.

Then, a shadow approached from the side.

“I saw you and Mingyu last night…” Wonwoo’s voice came low, casual, but there was something loaded behind it.

You turned, your steps slowing. “Oh, really? Where?”

He shrugged, towel in hand as he dried his damp hair. “Near the bus station. Were you two visiting the dojang?”

You nodded, eyebrows pinching slightly. “Yeah. Why?”

“I didn’t know you two were close,” he said, voice trailing like it was bait.

You gave a slight, deliberate shrug. “I’m close with everyone.”

That should’ve ended the conversation. But Wonwoo bit his lip and leaned in just a little closer, lowering his voice into a whisper only you could hear. “Can we talk for a moment? Like… sitting-down kind of talk?”

“Is this about the team?”

He exhaled, voice heavier now. “No. It’s about us.”

You blinked. “What about us?”

“Okay… Listen.” He glanced down, then up at you again, the words clearly dragging themselves out. “I’m sorry. I’ve been a jerk. I know. But… it happened, and I don’t regret it. Still—I think I owe you an apology.”

“About what?”

Wonwoo fidgeted under your stare, his fingers gripping the edge of his towel like it could save him. “I flirted with you. And then I dated your friend instead.”

Your mouth parted slightly, more out of disbelief than surprise. Before you could form a reply—

“YA! JEON WONWOO! Where do you put my kneecaps?!” Mingyu’s voice boomed across the field, his towering frame jogging over with dramatic exasperation.

You let out a breath and rolled your eyes, the moment snapped clean in half. Wonwoo turned, yelling back something about the bench.

You turned your heel, footsteps heavy with impatience. “I’m going. There’s no need to apologize. I’m just glad you’re not completely ignorant,” you said coolly, and left without waiting for his response.

Meanwhile, Mingyu caught up with Wonwoo, smiling just a bit too smugly as he waved the kneecaps in the air. “Oh, these? Yeah. They’ve been here the whole time,” he said, his tone far too pleased.

Wonwoo snatched them back with a grumble, eyes narrowed in slight annoyance, but Mingyu’s grin only widened—like he’d won something.

Sitting nearby, Hansol watched the entire scene unfold with a confused blink. “What is wrong with them?” he muttered under his breath, half to himself, half to the universe.

*

Where are you? Mingyu wondered, eyes scanning the crowd for a familiar face. The physical test results were out, and the lineup for the upcoming league had just been announced. As expected, his name was there—along with Wonwoo, Jun, Hansol, and a few other standout players. Cheers erupted, shoulders were patted, and someone had already ordered meat for a spontaneous barbecue.

But you were nowhere to be seen.

As the team gathered around to celebrate, Mingyu leaned toward the coach who was sitting across from him, sipping on soda.

“Coach, where’s Y/n?” he asked, trying to keep his voice casual, though his brows were furrowed.

The coach blinked as if the question jogged a memory. He clapped his hands once. “Ah! Right—she said to say hi. She won’t be joining us. Told me she’s got a fever.”

A flicker of concern crossed Mingyu’s face. He pulled out his phone and quickly shot you a text.

Mingyu: “Hey, coach said you're sick. You okay?”

No reply.

He waited. Ten minutes passed. Still nothing. Mingyu excused himself from the barbecue and stepped outside, the night air hitting his skin like a splash of cold water. He dialed your number.

It rang. And rang. No answer.

Well, to be fair, you never picked up his calls. But this time felt different. This wasn’t one of those playful prank calls he liked to make to mess with you.

So he tried another number.

“Hello, Jooyeon? Are you in the dorm?”

There was a pause. Then Jooyeon’s voice came through, slightly muffled.

“I heard Y/n’s sick. Can you check on her? I’ve been trying to reach her but she’s not responding.”

“Thanks, Jooyeon. Really.”

Mingyu hung up and stared at the screen, chewing on his bottom lip. He stood outside the restaurant, arms crossed tightly over his chest as the noise of laughter and sizzling meat floated from behind him.

Not even an hour later, Wonwoo returned from a call, his expression dimmed.

“Jooyeon just called me,” he said, raising his phone. “They had to take Y/n to the hospital. Her fever got worse.”

And just like that, the air around Mingyu turned heavy. He didn’t wait to hear the rest—his body was already moving toward the exit.

*

The sterile white light pressed against your eyelids before you even opened them. You didn’t know what time it was. Or what day.

All you knew was the weight.

Your limbs felt too heavy, your body sunk into the bed like you were anchored down. You blinked, the ceiling above you blurry through tears you didn’t remember crying. Somewhere, a monitor beeped steadily. Too steadily.

And then the pain came.

A dull throb first—then sharp, slicing through the haze in your leg. You tried to move. A mistake. Your breath hitched, jaw clenched as the ache flared up your thigh and into your hip like your bones had been rearranged by fire. Your hands gripped the sheets as if clinging to something real would somehow steady the world.

“She's awake—Y/n, can you hear me?”

A nurse hovered over you, voice gentle, rehearsed.

You didn’t answer. Your throat burned. Even your voice hurt.

The door creaked open and your father’s voice followed. He didn’t cry—he never did. But his eyes, red and swollen, told you enough.

“The car hit the side of her bike—she was thrown into the curb.”

“She had surgery already—femoral fracture. Pins in place. Long recovery.”

“Rehabilitation for at least six months. Maybe longer.”

“She won’t be competing again.”

You heard everything. Every word slashed through your heart in perfect clarity. You were eighteen. You were the undefeated team ace. You were a name people whispered with admiration.

You were.

Now, you hated hospitals.

“Y/n? You’re awake. Are you okay, princess?”

Your father’s voice was the first thing you heard, muffled and warm, like it had been waiting at your bedside. You opened your eyes slowly, your vision swimming as the fluorescent lights above stung your retinas. Your body felt like it had just run a marathon in your sleep—head pounding, skin clammy with sweat, breath shallow.

“Dorm called,” he said, brushing a damp strand of hair off your forehead. “They said they brought you to the hospital. Your fever was dangerously high. Why didn’t you call me?”

You groaned, trying to roll your head away from his voice. “My head hurts.” The pain was real—sharp and throbbing—but at least it bought you a pause in the scolding.

Your father exhaled slowly, somewhere between relief and frustration. “Your friends are outside. Want me to let them in?”

You turned your face to him, eyes half-lidded. “Can you just let me go instead? I hate it here.”

He chuckled, the sound short and familiar. “I know, princess. But your condition has to be better first.”

Not long after, the door creaked open and Jooyeon stepped in, followed closely by Wonwoo and Mingyu. Their eyes immediately darted to you—pale, bundled in blankets, lips dry, but awake.

“You brought me here, huh?” you murmured, locking eyes with Jooyeon.

She huffed, dropping her bag onto the chair beside your bed. “I had to. You were hallucinating from a 40-degree fever and started seeing me as a bribed referee.”

Mingyu snorted from the back of the room, covering his mouth with his hand. Wonwoo just blinked, stunned for a moment before a quiet laugh escaped him.

“You should’ve at least let us know you were sick,” Wonwoo said, already slipping into lecture mode.

“I told your coach,” you grumbled.

“He needs you to count our pushups, he's that forgetful,” he replied with a raised brow.

Jooyeon stepped closer, placing a bottle of warm water by your side. “He’s right. Let us know next time. You’re living by yourself now, remember? You can’t keep doing this.”

You looked at both of them—frustrated, concerned, but still gentle. It made something in your chest ache a little. They were too kind to hate, even if all you wanted was to crawl back under the sheets and disappear from the beeping machines and antiseptic air.

Mingyu stayed near the back, quiet, but his eyes never left you. There was a tension in his shoulders—like he’d run here. Like he’d been afraid.

You met his gaze briefly, and for a second, it was enough to calm your pounding heart.

But to your surprise, Mingyu visited again the next afternoon, alone. He walked in quietly, a familiar cake box in hand—your favorite one from the café you always used to order from.

“You didn’t have to,” you said, blinking at him as he placed it down on the table next to your bed.

“I know,” he said, his tone easy. “But I wanted to.”

He checked your temperature with the back of his hand against your forehead. Then his eyes flicked to the medicine cups on your tray. “Did you take it?”

You groaned, leaning back against the pillow. “Yes, mom.”

Mingyu raised an eyebrow, not convinced, but he let it slide. Instead, he glanced at the nurse’s station outside. “Wanna go for a walk?”

Before you could respond, he was already speaking to the nurse, asking for permission and a wheelchair. You didn’t argue. Somehow, you knew he would’ve found another way to drag you out of bed if you did.

“I heard from Jooyeon you hate hospitals,” Mingyu said once the two of you were out in the hospital park, wheels softly rolling over the stone path, the air light and clean after last night’s rain.

“She felt bad, huh?” you mumbled, arms crossed over your hospital gown.

Mingyu hummed, eyes ahead. “Yeah. You tried to kick her out and called her a bribed referee.”

You clicked your tongue, already imagining how ridiculous that must’ve looked. “I was hallucinating.”

“You accused your heater of being a snitch.”

You side-eyed him and Mingyu bit back a laugh.

Then his voice dropped a little. “I didn’t know… about the injury. That you were competing before. That you had to stop.”

You fell silent for a few steps, wind brushing softly through the trees.

“I can’t imagine myself in that position,” Mingyu added.

You huffed, amused. “Then don’t you dare get injured, Kim Mingyu. I won’t feel sorry for you.”

He smiled at the threat. “Hey, I was sympathizing…”

You waved it off lazily. “It wasn’t a big deal. I’ve accepted it, mostly. I just… still hate hospitals. Not just because of what happened—but because of what they felt like. The lights. The smell. Being stuck. It makes you feel like time’s moving without you.”

Mingyu glanced at you. “It’s not just the memory, huh?”

You shrugged, eyes unfocused. “It’s never just the memory.”

There was a brief pause before he said, “Well… I sympathized with every aspect.”

You turned to him slowly, raising a brow.

“You don’t even know all the aspects,” you said.

“I don’t have to,” he replied. “I know you didn’t want to be here, and I know it wasn’t fair.”

You laughed, just a small breath through your nose. “Alright.”

He grinned. “That’s all I get? Just ‘alright’?”

You smiled, tilting your head. “You want a thank you speech?”

“No,” he said. “Just maybe… a bite of that cake later?”

You laughed again, softer this time. “Fine. But only if you’re the one cutting it. I still feel like I ran a marathon in my sleep.”

“I’ll take it,” he said. And for a moment, the hospital didn’t feel so bad.

*

The day after you were discharged, you made a quiet visit to the field before heading home. You hadn’t planned on staying long—just enough to feel the grass under your shoes, to see the familiar outline of the training posts and the scuffed-up sidelines. But the moment you stepped in, something felt… off.

It was too quiet.

The usual buzz—the chaotic shouting, laughter, and footfalls—was missing. The air hung thick, like a storm had passed and nobody knew what to do with the silence it left behind.

Then you saw him—Jeonghan, sitting alone on the bench outside the field. His elbows rested on his knees, hands clasped tightly, head slightly bowed like someone stuck in thought too deep to climb out of. Even his usually neat hair was tousled by the wind.

You walked over, your steps light but steady. “What’s wrong?”

He glanced up at you, eyes dimmed and tired, the corners of his mouth weighed down with something more than stress. “I don’t know… everyone’s been talking about changing the team captain.” His voice was low, reluctant. “They asked me.”

You paused, blinking at him. “Wait—what?”

Jeonghan let out a humorless chuckle, dragging a hand down his face. “I don’t want it. Not like this. I don’t want to cause problems with Wonwoo.”

You sat beside him slowly, the bench creaking under your weight. “Why so suddenly?”

He exhaled, shoulders rising and falling as if the weight of the team sat there now. “It’s not sudden. We’ve been feeling it for weeks, just no one wanted to say it out loud. Wonwoo’s been distracted. He misses drills, doesn’t show up early anymore. His mind’s always somewhere else—usually with his girlfriend.”

You tilted your head, unsure whether to feel defensive or understanding. “So they’re blaming his relationship?”

Jeonghan shook his head, jaw tensing. “It’s not that simple. It’s not just about dating. It’s about how… different he’s been. Detached. Like the rest of us are still fighting for something and he’s just going through the motions. And yesterday... it just snapped.”

He picked at a thread on his sleeve, eyes narrowed in memory. “He blew up during practice. Minghao made a comment about timing, and Wonwoo just—snapped. Said things he shouldn’t have. He stormed off halfway through the set. Everyone went quiet after that.”

The wind picked up, carrying with it the distant sound of someone’s whistle. The field felt strange—like it was holding its breath, waiting for someone to take the lead and exhale first.

“Did you talk to him?” you asked quietly.

Jeonghan shook his head. “I didn’t want to add fuel to whatever’s already burning. He looked… wrecked. Like he’s fighting something and losing.”

You nodded slowly, your eyes scanning the field that had once felt like your second home. Now, it feels foreign. Uneasy.

The cracks were showing. And they were deeper than you thought.

You sat with the weight of his words for a moment, letting silence settle before gently nudging, “Have you talked to Mingyu about it? He’s the vice captain, after all.”

Jeonghan let out a sigh that sounded more like surrender than relief. His fingers curled tightly around the hem of his jersey as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

“You didn’t want to hear this,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant, “but Wonwoo fought with Mingyu too… two days ago.”

Your eyes widened. “Fought?”

He nodded slowly. “Not physically. But loud enough for the entire locker room to hear. They thought the room was empty, but Jihoon was still inside grabbing his stuff. He told me later... said it was bad.”

Your stomach twisted at the thought. Wonwoo and Mingyu never fought. Not even during the worst match losses or strategy disagreements. They always balanced each other—one with quiet observation, the other with bold direction. Together, they had kept the team together when everything else wobbled.

Was it about Jooyeon?

Everyone had noticed how close Mingyu was with her—how they always sat side by side after practice, how she used to bring him vitamin drinks and tease him about stretching more. It was unspoken, but understood: Jooyeon and Mingyu were something, even if neither of them ever put a label on it.

Until the day she showed up to the field—not for Mingyu, but for Wonwoo.

And just like that, the air shifted. Mingyu didn’t say anything, not out loud. But you saw it. In the way he stopped joking as much. In the way he watched from a distance instead of walking over to Jooyeon like he used to. You saw it in how he looked at Wonwoo, quiet and unreadable.

You, who weren't even close to Wonwoo anymore, had been just as stunned. It was Jooyeon and Wonwoo. Your best friend. And the guy who, not long ago, had been—what? Flirting with you? Calling late at night? Lingering after walks just a bit too long?

Now they were together. Officially, maybe not. But the way she looked at him, the way he started saving a spot next to him on the bench—it said enough.

So yes, you understood Mingyu’s resentment. You really did.

But fighting? Letting it bleed into practice, into leadership, into everything the team had built together?

Was it worth it?

You knew things wouldn’t fix themselves. So before you left that day, you pulled aside Coach Kim—stern, silver-haired, respected by everyone because he’d once been exactly where they were now: young, proud, and convinced the world owed him a clean pass and a winning shot.

You explained in quiet words—how the tension was gutting the locker room, how the younger boys looked up to Mingyu and Wonwoo like gods and now didn’t know which side to stand on. You hated dragging the dirty laundry to authority, but something had to give before the whole team tore at the seams.

Coach Kim listened, only nodding once. “I’ll handle it,” he said, tone flat but final.

So the next day, instead of warm-ups, he made everyone sit in a sloppy half-circle on the grass. Even the goalposts seemed to listen. Hansol sat cross-legged beside Minghao, plucking at blades of grass. Wonwoo sat three people away from Mingyu, eyes locked on the dirt by his feet. You stood by the equipment bench, arms folded, pulse tapping out a nervous beat.

Coach Kim stood in the center like a general before battle.

“Look at you,” he started, voice cutting the early morning hush. “A bunch of talented kids ready to break records—and each other’s necks. You think you’re special? You think pride wins trophies?”

No one dared breathe too loudly. Even Jeonghan, usually quick with a sly grin, kept his gaze pinned to the ground.

Coach’s voice dropped, quieter, but sharper than any whistle. “I’ve seen teams like you. They break apart the moment they forget they bleed the same. You don’t have to like each other every day. You don’t have to hug it out. But on this grass, you run for each other. Or you don’t run at all. Clear?”

A quiet chorus of “Yes, Coach” rose up—weak, but there.

Coach Kim’s eyes flicked to Mingyu, then Wonwoo. “You two want to kill each other, do it off my field. Here, you’re brothers. Figure it out. Or quit now and save us all the embarrassment.”

With that, he barked for stretches and drills to start—no warm-up jog, no easy laps. Just punishment sprints and grueling sets until someone puked. He wanted exhaustion to humble them back into one unit.

It almost worked.

By the end, half the boys lay sprawled on the grass, gasping and chugging lukewarm water. Sweat pooled under jerseys, cleats dug into the dirt like roots anchoring them to the only thing still holding them together: the game itself.

But exhaustion does funny things to simmering grudges.

As the rest dragged themselves toward the showers, Mingyu and Wonwoo stayed back—pretending to pick up stray cones and water bottles.

You knew better. You lingered by the bench, stomach tight.

Their voices started low.

Then sharper.

Then venomous.

Mingyu’s hand shot out, pushing Wonwoo’s shoulder hard enough to stagger him back a step.

“Stop acting like you’re the only one who lost something!” Mingyu spat.

Wonwoo shoved him back, eyes wild. “And what did you lose, huh? Tell me, Mingyu. What did she promise you? What did you think we were?”

You stepped forward, voice caught in your throat.

Too late.

Mingyu lunged—fist first. Wonwoo caught him at the collar, dragging him down with a sickening thud onto the grass. Fists found ribs. A knee dug into someone’s side. The quiet afternoon erupted with the sound of fists, grunts, curses biting through the air.

By the time Hansol and Jeonghan sprinted back to pull them apart, a thin line of blood trickled from Mingyu’s split lip. Wonwoo’s cheek was already bruising, dark and angry under the sun.

Coach Kim, standing by the fence, didn’t shout. He just stared at them—like he was watching his prized team dissolve under the weight of secrets they refused to say out loud.

And you—fists clenched at your sides, heart hammering in your chest—couldn’t help but wonder if anyone here truly deserved to be the villain.

You didn’t think—you just moved.

Your feet hit the grass before your mind caught up. Jeonghan’s grip slipped from Mingyu’s arm. Hansol’s hold around Wonwoo’s waist loosened just enough for the fight to twist dangerously out of control again. And you—small, breathless, desperate—wedged yourself right between them, palms pressing against Mingyu’s chest.

“Stop—! Both of you—!”

Your voice didn’t even sound like yours. Too thin, too raw to cut through fists and curses. They didn’t hear you. Or they didn’t care.

Wonwoo’s elbow swung back in a blind shove—too rough, too thoughtless. It caught you square in the shoulder. The world tilted. Grass smeared green and sky spun white as your knees buckled.

You hit the ground with a thud that startled everyone more than the punches had.

Mingyu froze first, his chest heaving under your palm one second, his knuckles half-curled the next. His eyes snapped to you, wide and breathless—like he’d just come up for air after drowning in rage. Wonwoo’s hand hovered midair, trembling, too late to catch you.

Hansol was the first to move, dropping to his knees beside you. “Y/n—hey, you okay? Easy—easy…” His hands were gentle under your elbows as he guided you up, his eyes flicking to the two men who suddenly looked like boys caught fighting behind the school gym.

Around you, the field went deathly quiet—broken only by the ragged sound of Mingyu’s breathing, the stuttered apology half-formed on Wonwoo’s lips.

You didn’t wait for either of them to speak. Your voice cut cleaner than the coach’s whistle had all morning.

“You two. Disappointing.”

Just that. Nothing more.

It landed heavier than any shove or punch they’d thrown.

Before anyone could reach for you—Jeonghan’s hand half-extended, Hansol’s worried whisper at your side—you shrugged them off. You walked stiffly to the bench, ignoring the ache blooming in your shoulder and the throb at your knee.

You grabbed your bag.

Didn’t look at anyone.

Didn’t remind them about the final huddle. Didn’t tell them tomorrow’s warm-up drills. Didn’t care.

The team—your team—watched as you stepped off the grass, your shoes sinking into the muddy edge by the gate. One step after another, you left behind the soundless apologies, the too-late regrets, and the two boys who thought their pain was bigger than everyone else’s.

You didn’t even turn around when you heard Mingyu’s broken, breathless voice behind you—

“Y/n—wait—”

But you didn’t wait.

Not this time.

*

Mingyu walked toward the station after practice, each step heavy with exhaustion and a bitterness that clung to his skin like sweat. The fight. The shouting. The shame. He couldn’t even look the coach in the eyes when he mumbled his apology before leaving—if that could even be called an apology.

Hansol had offered to walk with him, a quiet shadow by his side to make the weight a little lighter. But Mingyu waved him off. He needed the silence. He needed the night air to cool the rage still simmering beneath his skin and the regret burning deeper than any bruise.

He hadn’t even realized where his feet were taking him until he spotted you.

There you were—sitting on the curb in front of a convenience store across the street, your bag beside you and a small bottle of disinfectant in your hand. Under the harsh white light of the store sign, you looked so small yet impossibly stubborn, hissing under your breath as you dabbed clumsily at the raw scrape on your knee.

His chest tightened. He hadn’t even thought about you getting hurt. God, how hadn’t he seen it?

Mingyu crossed the street slowly, as if afraid you’d vanish if he moved too fast. He crouched down beside you without a word, eyes fixed on the angry red wound you were trying—and failing—to clean properly.

“Let me do it,” he said quietly, his voice rough but careful, as if any sudden sound might crack the fragile calm between you.

You didn’t even look at him. “No. I’m still angry at you.”

But Mingyu didn’t care. Or maybe he cared too much to stop. He gently pulled the swab from your trembling fingers and poured fresh antiseptic over it, ignoring the way your eyes narrowed in protest.

“Hold still,” he murmured.

His fingers brushed your skin, large and warm, steady in a way that only made the sting sharper—because it reminded you of what he was supposed to be. Reliable. Your vice captain. Your friend.

You winced as the cold bite of alcohol kissed the cut. Mingyu paused, murmuring an apology so soft it almost got lost in the hum of passing cars.

“You didn’t even think, did you?” you whispered, your voice cracking as frustration bled through. “Fighting in front of everyone… hurting each other like that… and for what, Mingyu?”

He didn’t answer right away. His eyes stayed fixed on your knee, brows furrowed in guilt, in shame, in something deeper he couldn’t name if he tried.

“I’m sorry,” he said at last, the words slipping out like a confession he’d been too proud to say out loud until now. “I didn’t think. I just… I just lost it.”

When he pressed the clean bandage over your scraped skin, his fingertips trembled—like he was afraid you’d push him away for good this time.

You didn’t. But you didn’t forgive him either. Not yet.

“You should be sorry,” you said softly, anger giving way to quiet disappointment that somehow cut deeper than any shout ever could. “You’re supposed to protect them. Not tear them apart.”

Mingyu closed his eyes, breathing in your words like punishment—like the only thing that could keep him grounded tonight.

When he opened them again, you were looking at him too—wounded and tired and still, somehow, here.

He wanted to say more. But for once, Kim Mingyu had no words left.

So he just knelt there on the pavement under the flickering store sign, his hands stained with antiseptic and regret, wishing he could clean this mess as easily as your scraped knee.

“What were you even fighting for? The team? Your reputation?”

Mingyu sat back on his heels, the used swab discarded by your bag. He shook his head, refusing to meet your eyes.

“A girl?” you pressed, your tone sharper than you meant it to be.

At that, he stilled. His shoulders stiffened under his sweat-damp jersey. He didn’t say it outright—but the way he nodded, barely there, was answer enough.

You let out a shaky sigh, exhaustion dragging at your voice. “You two are hopeless. If this is about Jooyeon—why? She’s Wonwoo’s girlfriend. Why are you making a mess over something that’s already decided?”

“I didn’t make a mess,” Mingyu shot back, his tone flaring just a little. “He… he offended me.”

You scoffed, half incredulous, half resigned. “You’re grown men. Friends, even. What, so he says something harsh and you swing at him like a teenager? Seriously, Mingyu—”

“He said I don’t deserve you.”

Your words cut off. The hum of the streetlight, the distant laughter from inside the store—everything seemed to drop away for a heartbeat.

“What?” you whispered.

Mingyu swallowed hard, his jaw working as if the confession tasted bitter on his tongue. He finally looked at you, really looked—eyes raw in a way you hadn’t seen since your first year managing the team.

“He said… he said I’d ruin you. That you waste too much time cleaning up after me. That you’d be better off if I wasn’t around.” His voice cracked. “And maybe he’s right. But he doesn’t get to say that. Not about me. Not about you.”

You stared at him, the sting on your knee forgotten. They fought over Jooyeon—yes. But they fought over you, too? Over what you deserved, who you cared for, how much you’d given them both without ever asking for anything back?

“Mingyu…” you breathed, your anger leaking out of you like air from a punctured tire.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, exhausted and so painfully honest now that the fight had stripped him bare. “I messed up. I know. But don’t… don’t think I didn’t care what it did to you. I swear I didn’t think—”

You shook your head slowly, cutting him off with a quiet, heavy voice. “You both didn’t think. And now look at you—bruised, reckless, fighting each other instead of fighting for each other.”

You watched him—your striker, your headache, your friend—and it hurt more than the scrape on your knee ever could.

“You’re so stupid, Kim Mingyu,” you said softly, your eyes stinging with frustrated tears you refused to let fall. “So stupid for letting it come to this.”

He nodded, the smallest, saddest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah. I know.”

Mingyu and you walked side by side to the station. Neither of you spoke—a silence stretched so thin it almost hurt more than words would have.

The neon lights of the convenience store faded behind you, replaced by the quiet hum of the bus stop. You both sat on the cold bench, a polite gap between your shoulders. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the pavement like it might offer him forgiveness.

You sat upright, your bag clutched to your chest, stealing glances at him every few seconds. But when your bus finally rattled up to the curb, you stood without a word, giving him a silent nod—a farewell that felt heavier than a thousand arguments.

Just as you stepped toward the door, his hand wrapped gently around your wrist. Warm, calloused, trembling just a little.

“You know I like you, right?”

His voice was quiet—too raw to be casual, too steady to be taken lightly.

You froze, your free hand tightening around the strap of your bag. It was the one thing you’d spent countless nights trying not to name. The thing that lingered in the way he always waited for you after practice, the way he listened to your rants, the way he made you laugh even when you swore you wouldn’t.

You didn’t want to answer. Didn’t want to confirm it, or deny it, or give it any more room to take root in your chest. Not now.

But Mingyu wasn’t done. He let out a soft, humorless huff—a breath that might’ve been a laugh if he weren’t so painfully sincere.

“And you’re the only one who gets to decide if I ruin you or not,” he said, eyes lifting to catch yours in the dim glow of the bus headlights. “Not Wonwoo. Not anyone.”

For a moment, you hated him for saying it. For making you feel it. For being so honest when all you wanted was a clean escape from tonight.

You pulled your wrist free—gently, not angrily—and stepped back.

“I know,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. Then you turned and boarded the bus, never looking back, but feeling every heartbeat that stayed with him on that empty bench.

*

You didn’t talk about that night. Not once. But everything shifted in small, undeniable ways—like tiny cracks in glass, catching the light at certain angles.

After Mingyu’s quiet confession at the bus station, you started treating him… differently. Not that anyone else would notice—at least not at first. But Mingyu noticed. Oh, he noticed every time.

It started two days later, when you walked past the bench before practice and casually dropped a wrapped sandwich on the seat beside him. He blinked at it, then at you—half-expecting you to bark at him for not eating properly again. But instead, you just muttered, “Eat it. You look like you’re living off instant noodles again.”

He unwrapped it so fast he almost forgot to thank you, his grin wide and boyish, crumbs sticking to the corner of his mouth.

Then it was the way you didn’t scold him when he half-assed his warm-ups—a thing you used to yell at him about in front of everyone. You’d just raise a brow, arms crossed, and when he’d catch your eye, you’d sigh and look away. He’d quietly finish the stretches anyway, grinning to himself because he knew you were still watching.

And maybe the biggest thing—your water bottles. Before, you’d hand them out carelessly, sometimes tossing him one that was lukewarm if he was late. But now, somehow, every practice, Mingyu found the coolest bottle waiting at his feet, condensation dripping down the sides, like you’d kept it tucked away just for him.

He tested this once—sneaking a peek into the cooler when he thought you weren’t looking. Sure enough, at the very bottom, buried in ice, was a bottle labeled “Gyu.” He almost laughed out loud, but he didn’t want to ruin it—this quiet language you both spoke without words.

And sometimes, when you thought no one was paying attention, you’d catch him looking at you. Not with the teasing glint he used to have, but with something softer—something grateful, almost gentle.

It made you wonder how long you could keep pretending it meant nothing. How long before these small kindnesses, these silent exchanges, forced both of you to admit you didn’t want it to stop.

And even though you never said it out loud, Mingyu knew exactly what these tiny mercies meant. They meant: I heard you that night. I didn’t run away.

And for now, that was enough.

You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t asked yourself—over and over—if this was right. If you deserved this.

Because once upon a time, when you liked Wonwoo—your quiet, steady, male-lead-type Wonwoo—you learned the hard way what it meant to lose to Jooyeon. How quick the world was to remind you, She’s prettier. She’s softer. She’s everyone’s sweetheart. And how quick you were to believe it: Maybe I’m just the side character. The plot twist no one remembers by the last chapter.

You tried so hard to drown out those whispers, to pretend they didn’t sting when people compared you—when they asked, half-jokingly, “Why can’t you be more like Jooyeon?”

You swallowed it all. Smiled. Kept showing up to practice, kept cheering for a team that didn’t know your heart was cracking from your last heartbreak. Wonwoo moved on; so did everyone else. You told yourself you did, too.

And then there was Mingyu. Ridiculously tall. Ridiculously charming. Too bright, too easy—someone you used to call an alien behind his back, just to convince yourself you’d never fall for a boy who could ruin you with a grin.

But then that night at the bus station happened. And suddenly, the world tilted a little. Mingyu—who could have anyone—said he wanted you. Said you got to decide if he was worth the mess.

It was reckless, probably. But it gave you something you hadn’t had in a long time: confidence. A little voice that said, You’re still you. You’re not Jooyeon. You don’t have to be. You get to be the main character in your own damn story.

So you started letting yourself hope again. Hope every time Mingyu winked at you during practice instead of calling you manager-nim like the others. Hope when he matched your steps to the bus station, laughing about nothing. Hope when he dropped by the dojang—sitting cross-legged at the edge of the mat, cheering when you landed a clean kick on Seungkwan—like you were worth watching.

Sometimes the old insecurities crept back in. They always would. But each time Mingyu caught your eye across the field, something in you dared to believe it: You weren’t a footnote. Not this time. You were your own plot twist. And maybe—just maybe—he was, too.

You hadn’t meant to hang out with Jooyeon that day. It just happened—she spotted you near the campus café, waved you over with that blinding smile, and before you knew it, you were sitting across from her, stirring the melting ice in your drink while she caught you up on things you didn’t really ask about.

It felt harmless, at first. She talked about her part-time job, the new café she liked, a cute puppy video Wonwoo sent her last night. You laughed at the right parts. You nodded when she asked for your opinion on which hair color she should try next.

And then she said it. So casually, like she was commenting on the weather.

"I heard about Wonwoo and Mingyu fighting. I felt bad, you know? Because it’s kinda my fault too, I think. I mean, I still talk with Mingyu. I already told Wonwoo I can’t just cut ties with him—he’s like, a good friend? And I broke his heart. So it’s clear Mingyu might still be hoping for me."

She sipped her iced Americano, oblivious to how her words cracked something open inside your chest.

Still hoping for me. You nearly choked on your own breath.

This wasn’t what Mingyu told you. This wasn’t what his quiet confession under the bus stop lights had felt like. This wasn’t how it felt when he touched your scraped knee with trembling hands, or when he laughed so easily beside you, or when he watched you spar like you were something rare and worth waiting for.

You were so still that Jooyeon barely noticed you’d gone silent. She kept talking, her voice a distant hum while your mind replayed Mingyu’s words—“You know I like you, right?”—and wondered if you’d been stupid to believe them.

You clenched your hands around your cup, fighting the heat rising to your eyes. It shouldn’t hurt. Not when you knew better than anyone that Mingyu could have anyone he wanted, even Jooyeon, always Jooyeon.

But it did. It hurt so badly you couldn’t breathe.

You forced yourself to swallow down the bitterness, to curve your lips into a polite smile when she asked if you wanted to order cake. You told her no. You lied and said you were on a diet.

But the truth was:

You couldn’t taste anything over the ache in your chest. And for the first time since Mingyu’s confession, you wondered— Maybe you really were just the second lead in someone else’s love story.

*

Mingyu had asked you out for your first real date—a simple plan, nothing fancy: a movie neither of you paid full attention to because you kept whispering jokes in the dark, then a trip to the game arcade tucked behind the cinema.

You tried—God, you really tried—to be present. And for the most part, you were. Because you were naturally fun. Because Mingyu made everything feel easy, like life itself slowed down to match his grin and his loud laughter that turned heads, unapologetically.

But there was an aftertaste.

A bitterness clinging behind your smile.

Jooyeon’s careless words wouldn’t stop echoing: Mingyu might still be hoping for me.

Every time you caught Mingyu watching you—like he did just now, sweat dampening the fringe on his forehead, pride radiating off him as the basketball machine’s score beeped victory—you wondered if she was right.

If you were just… convenient.

"You seemed distracted. You don't like the game?" he asked, jogging back to you, voice half-teasing, half-concerned. He tossed the last basketball back into the rack with a dull thud, then flicked your forehead so lightly you barely felt it.

You swallowed, trying to steady your voice.

"I’m sorry... I—I just..."

Words tangled in your throat.

He didn’t even let you finish, that annoyingly soft-hearted fool.

"You’re cold? I told you to wear my hoodie! Really, Y/n..."

He chuckled as if your heart wasn’t a chaotic mess. Before you could protest, he tugged his jacket off and draped it around your shoulders, fussing with the zipper until you were half-trapped in the scent of him—fresh soap, fabric softener, and a hint of sweat from all the running around.

You should’ve felt safe. You should’ve leaned in.

Instead, your heart clenched tighter.

Geez. He was too kind. Too gentle. Too everything you secretly wanted—

And that made this so much harder. Because what if it wasn’t real?

What if you were just the side character stepping in until the story circled back to Jooyeon?

What if your heart, for once, was the only thing uninvited in his perfect warmth?

"You wanna play the claw machine next?" Mingyu asked, bright-eyed, oblivious to the storm brewing behind your forced smile. He nudged your shoulder, like a big kid, so damn easy to love.

You lied through your teeth, nodding.

"Yeah. Let’s win that giant bear."

But your laughter tasted like fear.

And Mingyu—sweet, thoughtless Mingyu—didn’t notice yet that you were starting to drift behind him, one careful step at a time.

*

After the arcade, Mingyu suggested a walk by the Han River—because that’s what you did with someone you liked, right? You shared an ice cream, fingers brushing as you passed the cone back and forth, sticky sweetness coating your lips while the city lights flickered on the rippling water.

At some point, he took your hand—no fuss, no big gesture, just slipped his warm palm into yours like it was the easiest thing in the world. He licked his ice cream, swung your joined hands a little, humming a melody you couldn’t name.

You should have felt lucky. You should have felt special.

Instead, your chest felt tight, like your ribs were trying to trap your own heart before it betrayed you again.

When you reached a quiet stretch of the riverbank, he stopped, turned so his fringe danced in the breeze, and asked, so simply—

"Are you happy?"

The question hit harder than any truth you’d been avoiding all day.

Your throat closed up. Your eyes stung.

And before you could stop yourself, warm tears slipped down your cheeks—silent at first, then all at once, too many, too fast.

"Y/n—hey, hey, what’s wrong?"

His ice cream nearly dropped from his other hand as he scrambled, alarmed. He tugged you toward a nearby bench, made you sit down. He crouched in front of you, elbows propped on his knees, hands firm on yours to keep you grounded as you hunched over your sobs.

"Look at me, princess. Look at me—what’s wrong? Did I mess up? You didn’t like what we did today?"

His voice cracked around the edges, fear slipping through the cracks of his usual playful tone.

You shook your head, choked on another sob, and forced the words out—broken, muffled by your sleeve.

"It’s not you— it’s me. I don’t know what I am to you. I don’t know if I’m enough. Jooyeon said—"

You cut yourself off, wiping your face angrily, frustrated that you even brought her up.

Mingyu’s expression darkened just a shade. He squeezed your knee, voice low but unwavering.

"Hey. No. Forget Jooyeon for a second—look at me. Look at me, Y/n."

You sniffed, eyes red and bleary, meeting his steady gaze.

"You’re crying because you think I’m playing with you? That you’re just... a filler until I get bored?"

He almost laughed, but it wasn’t funny—he sounded hurt.

"Do you think I’d do this with just anyone? Do you think I’d hold your hand like this? Watch movies with you, chase stuffed toys for you, walk here for hours just to hear your voice? Y/n—"

He cupped your face, thumbs catching fresh tears, his breath warm on your forehead.

"I told you that night, didn’t I? You’re the only one who gets to decide if I ruin you or not. Because I won’t. Not unless you keep pushing me away when I’m right here—"

He pressed his forehead to yours, eyes closing, exhaling like he’d been holding it all in, too.

"I like you. It’s not complicated for me. So don’t make it complicated for yourself, okay?"

You hiccuped through a fragile laugh, voice still watery.

"I’m sorry... I just— I’m so scared."

He pulled back, gave you that boyish grin that always destroyed your walls, and wiped your tears with his sleeve.

"It’s okay. I’ll wait until you’re not scared anymore. But don’t cry on our first date, Y/n—my heart can’t take it."

And then, as if it were the simplest thing in the world, he kissed your forehead, held your hands tighter, and stayed with you until your tears dried in the night air, proof that maybe—just maybe—you were the main character this time.

*

You both stood under the soft glow of the dorm building’s front lights, hands still loosely twined together as if neither of you wanted to be the first to let go. Mingyu shifted his weight, exhaled a long, shaky breath, then gently tugged you closer so you faced him fully.

He opened his mouth—probably ready to charm you with some dramatic line— but you beat him to it, tilting your head, a sly smile tugging at your lips.

"Why’d you call me princess earlier?"

Mingyu froze. His eyes went wide for a heartbeat before he pressed his lips together, fighting the grin that inevitably slipped out anyway.

"You noticed, huh?" he mumbled, a hint of a boyish laugh rumbling in his chest. He dropped his head a little, embarrassed but too proud to hide it fully.

"Because… your father calls you that. I heard him once, when you were half-asleep and he was nagging you to drink your medicine. You looked so annoyed but so soft at the same time—"

His hand lifted, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

"I liked it. It makes you feel like… mine to protect."

The word mine did something to your heartbeat you chose to ignore for now. Instead, you stared at him—this giant man-child with bruised knuckles and a gentle smile—wondering if maybe you’d spent too long running from what was right in front of you.

The quiet settled like a warm blanket until Mingyu cleared his throat, shoving the moment forward before your overthinking mind could ruin it.

*"So…" he said, tone suddenly lighter, teasing, but the nervous flicker in his eyes betrayed him, "are we official now?"

You arched a brow, lips quirking.

"Do I get to decide that?"

He scoffed, dramatic as ever, throwing his free hand over his chest like a sworn knight.

"Who am I to decide, princess? I’m just a mere servant to your royal highness’s whims."

The laugh burst from your throat before you could stop it, genuine and bright, and Mingyu’s shoulders dropped like he’d been holding his breath all night just to hear it.

On impulse—heart hammering but certain—you rose on your tiptoes and pressed a soft, fleeting kiss to his cheek. He stilled completely, even stopped breathing for a second, and when you pulled back you caught the flush climbing from his neck to his ears.

"See you tomorrow, Kim Mingyu."

You slipped your hand from his—feeling his fingers cling for just a second longer than necessary—and turned toward the door, the grin refusing to leave your face.

Behind you, Mingyu’s dazed laugh floated through the night air, half-murmured to himself.

"Ah, she kissed me first… I’m so done for.”

The next day, practice was quieter than usual. The kind of quiet that felt intentional—like everyone was waiting for something to happen. The team moved slower, drills dragged longer, and even the sound of sneakers brushing against turf seemed oddly cautious.

Mingyu tried to act normal. He joked with Jun, helped Minghao set up cones, and pretended not to notice the faint sting on his knuckles when he gripped the ball. But every few minutes, his mind drifted—to last night, to your laugh, to the way your fingers had fit between his like they belonged there.

He was tying his shoelaces when a shadow loomed over him.

“Hey,” Hansol’s voice broke through the still air, low and steady. Mingyu looked up, squinting against the sunlight. Hansol had that face—half blank, half dead serious—the kind that didn’t give much away but made you instinctively straighten your back.

“Yeah?” Mingyu asked, tugging the lace tighter.

Hansol tilted his head slightly, his tone unreadable. “I just wanna make sure I saw it right last night.”

Mingyu frowned, pretending to think. “Saw what?”

Hansol exhaled, eyes narrowing just a bit. “You and Y/n… holding hands.”

The words hung there between them, heavier than they should’ve been. A few of the guys nearby pretended not to listen, but everyone’s posture gave them away—shoulders angled, heads tilted slightly, ears definitely tuned in.

Mingyu leaned back on his hands, smirk tugging at his lips like armor. “You saw that, huh?”

Hansol didn’t blink. “So it’s true.”

“Why?” Mingyu asked, voice calm but eyes sharp. “You keeping tabs on me now?”

Hansol’s brows drew together, not out of anger but confusion. “No. Just… surprised. You fought with Wonwoo about her, remember?”

The air between them shifted. Mingyu’s smile faltered for half a second, just long enough for Hansol to notice.

“I remember,” Mingyu said finally, his voice quieter now. “Doesn’t mean I regret it.”

Hansol studied him. “You sure this isn’t because of Jooyeon? Or Wonwoo?”

Mingyu’s jaw tightened, his usual easygoing tone turning edged. “You think I’d use her like that?”

“I think you’re still figuring it out,” Hansol said evenly.

That stung more than Mingyu expected. Because maybe there was truth in it. Maybe he was still figuring it out—how to separate the mess of his feelings, how to stop seeing ghosts of the past every time he looked at you.

But then, his mind replayed your laugh from last night, the way you said his name, the warmth of your hand in his. And he knew—it wasn’t confusion. It wasn’t guilt. It was real.

He stood up, brushing grass off his knees, towering over Hansol but not in a threatening way. “I know what I’m doing,” he said, steady now. “And if I don’t… I’ll take the blame when I find out.”

Hansol looked at him for a long moment before finally nodding once. “Just don’t hurt her.”

Mingyu let out a quiet laugh, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He kicked lightly at the grass before turning back to Hansol, teasing glint back in his voice.

“Why do you care that much, huh?” he said, crossing his arms. “You like Y/n or something?”

Hansol blinked, caught off guard for a second. Then he scoffed. “Don’t be stupid.”

Mingyu grinned wider, leaning in just enough to annoy him. “You’re blushing.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

Hansol rolled his eyes, grabbing the nearest ball and tossing it at Mingyu’s chest. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Hey, just saying—” Mingyu caught the ball easily, spinning it on his finger with that same smug ease he used on the field. “You sound a little protective for someone who’s ‘just a teammate.’”

Hansol’s gaze hardened, but his voice stayed calm. “I am protective. She’s part of the team, and she doesn’t deserve to get caught in whatever emotional hurricane you’re brewing right now.”

Mingyu tilted his head, his grin faltering for a heartbeat. “You think I’m gonna hurt her.”

“I think you don’t know what you’re doing yet,” Hansol said simply. “And she’s been through enough.”

That hit harder than Mingyu wanted to admit. The teasing fell from his tone completely. For a long moment, neither of them spoke—just the sound of whistles and running footsteps in the background.

Then Mingyu let out a quiet sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “You don’t have to worry about that, Hansol.”

Hansol studied him, skeptical. “Yeah? Then prove it.”

Mingyu’s mouth curved into a small, lopsided smile again—one that didn’t quite mask the guilt sitting behind it. “I will.”